


An Alter of Black

by thehelsabot



Series: An Alter of Black [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexuality, Character Death, Daddy Issues, Depression, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Elf Biology, Elfquisition, F/F, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heterosexual Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinky, Lesbian Sex, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Rebirth, Smut, Unreliable Narrator, Weird Elven Sexual Mores, slow burn relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehelsabot/pseuds/thehelsabot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the DA Kink Meme.</p><p>Rosal, First of Clan Lavellan, lived so long with a heavy weight on her chest. An alter of black, a burnt space where love once lived and in its place grows grief and sorrow. Gently, two hands will build love again a home. Gently, two hands will leave the door unhinged. Love escapes. Sorrow enters. Sorrow she once again cannot bear.</p><p> <br/><a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62119221#t62119221">Prompt here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Alter of Black

“A rope the tightens, winds, coils. It wraps around your middle, its end tied to a huge moon made of grief and pain. Regret. Clawing at the ground, holding onto any piece of rock or earth lest it might carry you away. But where would you go? Where did you go? It did carry you somewhere. Here is a place, too. So light and tiny, you slipped through. You’d been watching us, now we watch you.”

 

“Who are you?” turning, her eyes met a wisp of energy and light glowing, shining in the shadowy landscape. It took little form and took all her concentration to focus and hold onto his shape.

 

“White coat, black coat, blue. White made it nothing, heavy, solid feet on the ground. But too heavy, so heavy you couldn’t walk without right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot and decided you’d rather fly than feel heavy with no dreams. Black gave you what you wanted but then took it away. The space Love lived, named grief. The empty stone slab where an alter of black was built. What was left made it impossible to grip the ground but you felt free— floating, flying, giving in but you went too high and turned blue. Now you’re here. And you’re still real, still whole.”

 

“Are you an angel? Is this heaven?” The girl, or spirit of the girl, drew closer.

 

“I am Compassion. This is the Fade, but you knew that and you know me. You should not remember what you do, it’s very confusing that you would know me but not. I can take it away if it makes more sense.”

 

Strong feeling burst, bloomed into the landscape in protest. “No!”

 

“But you’re hurting and I can heal the hurt.”

 

She spat back, sadness filling the space around her, “Perhaps it is my nature.”

 

“It is not. You are not Despair, though it is a part of you. You were a person and people are not just one thing. People change.”

 

“But now I am not?” The ripples emitting from her spirit calmed at his words. He was helping, even just a little. It made Compassion hopeful.

 

“You are still a person. How are you here? The others want to know as well.” The spirit motioned— or whatever the ethereal version of such a thing was— to the clouded landscape behind him. On it prickled wisps of energy stirring.

 

“You would know better than I.” It was true. She was very confused. Why hadn’t it ended? Was that the secret— there was no real end? Every end is a beginning, and so forth.

 

“You killed yourself.”

 

“I know that. I… do not regret leaving that place. I was in a lot of pain.”

 

“Yes. But you died. You should be in the Void, not here.” There was a hint of panic seeping through his words, alarm at the violation of the natural order. Even the Fade had certain laws that were hard— if not impossible— to twist.

 

“The Void?” The word was familiar.

 

“What does your world call it?”

 

“May things, but the Void? That’s a word from a fairy tale, a story some man cooked up for entertainment. Are you telling me there’s a real place, a real Void? A real Fade?” Amazement. Curiosity. Colors blossomed and bloomed hopefully around her, sending electric feelings through Compassion and the others.

 

“It’s real; you are here, are you not?”

 

A tug pulled at her naval, and somehow she gasped real air through real lungs.

 

“You’re leaving. You’re going to begin again but not where you were. It is unusual to remember before what comes next, but I take anything you won’t let me.”

 

“What, am I waking up?”

 

“You’re being born.” So tiny, little. Little baby, being born. But inside was ripe and raw and so aware. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be, with no newness, but it somehow was. Compassion struggled to not fix this violation, this unhealthy twist, as did Hope and Wisdom and Curiosity. They resisted.

 

“What— ah!”

 

And she was born. Again.Rosal, her mother declared, after a long and harrowing pregnancy; the newest member of the Clan Lavellan. Rosal because the child endured. She would endure, as well.


	2. So be it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunting trip and a decision of the Keeper.

Rosal sharpened the tips of her arrows against the stone, just as Ella had taught her; it’d become a ritual and point of meditation when her mind grew weary from clutter. She was no hunter, but Keeper Deshanna had insisted that the bow was a necessary skill despite her magical ability. Every adult in the clan could survive if stranded, so she would be no different.She had said,“You cannot properly take down a ram with fire, Rosal. Ella will teach you and when you finish we will discuss possibly your vallas’lin”

 

The thought brought her a flurry of emotions; though she knew it was a proud moment for most Dalish youth, and she was a few years older than the rest of her clan at that point, she was not eggar to take the markings upon her face and body. She knew she could not put it off much longer, and Deshanna was already getting flack for babying her and spoiling her. The elders of the clan knew she had a sensitive nature, however, and dare not openly speak of it. She could tell from their pitiful looks and withering stares their opinions— they need not have a voice.

 

Her instinct spoke to her, as it often did, chiding her for her contradictory feelings. It often spoke the truth, but in patches and Rosal could never quite place where said truth came from. She knew the vallas’lin was no badge of pride, but someone else name across her brow marking her as property. She did not know why she knew. Often she listened, quietly, in defiance, to the voices in the Fade that spoke gently to her and validated her suspicions as truth. The waking world was stressful and sad, real but not. She preferred her dreams. 

 

Keeper kept eyes on her— she was always a sad child, even before the death of her mother. Her farther did the best he could for a girl child, and the clan certainly picked up what he could not, but Deshanna felt guilt still. It was her fault her mother had died— she should not have insisted she go on hunt while still weak from a miscarriage. Rosal’s stillborn sister. They had tried at least thrice after Rosal to have a second, but always failed. Each pregnancy was more stressful than the last, even when they did not last long. Where her mother was strong minded and tough, her daughter was soft and fragile. It was a blessing she had been born at all, and even greater that she possessed a great magic skill about her, but for all her talent and promise she had little joy about her. Keeper Deshanna warned her heavily about entering the Fade— she would surely attract demons. It was unfair, perhaps, to assume she could not hold against them, but such sadness drew Despair.

 

But Rosal had company in the Fade, even after Compassion suddenly vanished from her near her 10th year, she had Hope and she had Curiosity. She did not fear the Fade as she should, and was told, because the same small voice that told her of the vallas’lin told her that _nothing there could take from her what she herself was not willing to give._ She had a strong will, despite her soft heart.

 

 

Ella was a year younger than her, but already was marked for Andruil “Are you ready? Mislani is waiting by the grove of pines north of the halla. We must bring back at least a decent sized kill a piece to last through tomorrow. Deshanna wanted you to try to take down something larger than a hare this time.”

 

Rosal frowned and paled, “Are we taking back the whole animal? Or…”

 

“You don’t have to dress it yourself if it makes you upset, Rosal.” Ella was patient and kind towards Rosal, unlike many of the other youths in the clan, “But it will be hard to carry three large beasts back with us. The others are preparing traps for Marin’s bonding feast so they cannot assist with the daily hunt.“

 

They searched for prey the better of the afternoon, moving deftly through the forest with feet quiet enough to elude Fen’Harel. Finally, a group of boars was visible through thick underbrush, burring their snouts in search of truffles. Mislani unhooked his bow from its holster and quietly pulled an arrow taught before easing his body into an advantageous position. He waited for Rosal and Ella, who mirrored his actions. He was the first to pull trigger— hitting a large boar right in the back of the neck, cutting a major artery. Blood poured heavily from the wound. Ella’s arrow pierced a smaller boar to the right of Mislani’s, hitting near the same spot. Rosal had flinched. Her arrow had pierced a large boar’s chest—probably hitting a lung— injuring it in a most painful way.Ella and Milani’s boars twitched and struggled to keep their movements as the blood left their body, laying down as if sleeping.

 

“Oh, now you’ve made a mess.” Mislani tutted. “If they die too painfully it taints the taste of the meat.”

 

“But you hit it this time! It’s good, right?” Ella clasped her on the back and reached for her throat cutting knife, “I will… finish.”

 

MIslani shot Ella a harsh look, and handed Rosal’s shaking hand a dagger, “No, let her do it.”

 

Ella snapped defensively, “Too cruel—“

 

He cut her off, “What would Keeper want?”

 

“I will do it.” Rosal nodded, eyes distant, and moved to approach the struggling beast. She hated this part— she hated watching the soul leave. And it did, every time. She knew what it looked like alive and within the body, what it looked like when it left, and what it looked like when it was gone. Where did it go? At times she felt she could answer this, but perhaps it was different for boars.

 

Ella called softly behind her, “Careful!”

 

With a precise movement of her wrist, and a calculated step that avoided the thrashing limbs, Rosal finished her work. And there it was.

 

 

An hour later, they returned to the clan with their eviscerated kills tied and slung.

 

“Good.” Deshanna smiled and nodded, “Rosal, will you walk with me? Let us speak.”

 

She followed the Keeper silently. After a time they came to the nearby stream, and sat aside each other on a smooth slab of granite, washed by water and time. “In two weeks you and Ella will leave for Conclave.”

 

“What? Keeper, was it not Mislani and Ella who—” she paused, “Why send me?”

 

“You will take your vallas’lin and journey with her. I think she is a good influence on you, and that the experience might teach you of the world. I also think it will bring you joy, da’len. You are always the most at peace when somewhere new.”

 

She furrowed, “I do not feel good about this Conclave, though. Must we go at all?”

 

That she did not ‘feel good’ was an understatement. She knew, somehow, it would end badly. Perhaps it was inevitable, perhaps it was ordained. Is this why she was here, and not elsewhere?

 

“We have no debt to these humans, no, but it is in our best interest. I do not agree with the other Keepers in that we should sit idly by and wait for things to sort themselves out. There is restlessness out of Wycome, as well, so any information we can gain…”

 

“You want us to spy?”

 

“Yes, but officially we will send you as Dalish representatives if the shems ask.” She rested a hand on Rosal’s knee, “But first, your vallas’lin, da’len. As my First, I might recommend Mythal’s blessing. She will guide and protect you on this journey.”

 

“She is preferable, at least.” There was a subtle bite to her words.

 

“Do you still feel unready? I know… you harbor a certain disdain for them, and I have listened to your reasoning before, child, but you will not be taken seriously as my First without them. The others already question your ability to lead, and I grow older and must make a decision. Do not listen to what the demons tell you, they can see your sensitive nature, ma’hallain, and seek to tempt it into despair.”

 

Rosal huffed, agitated, “You think it a lie? Is it not we who are mistaken?”

 

She sighed, “Sathan, it is enough. You must.”

 

“So be it.”


	3. Tell the Truth but tell it slant.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ellana would have done better,_ she thought as it faded to black.

Dark, dank, cold. The stone floor pushed against her slumped form; she was awake, somehow, but barely. There were no dreams leaving her, no comforting wisps or spirits she left. It had been a dark sleep, as well, much as she imagined death might feel so one might understand the confusion. And now, disappointment. Her eyes stayed shut, mind overrun by the pulsing in her hand tearing at her nerves. What had happened? Ah, of course. They had journeyed to the Conclave, her and Ella. Ella, short for Ellana. Rosal was so sure it would be her— it _should_ have been her— then she would finally be free from this madness, but no. She had to endure. Ellana was perfect and polite and refined in skill and had all the qualities of a leader. She would have handled the mantel with the grace and a level-headedness she herself could not bring. Rosal considered herself tarnished, imperfect. Damaged goods. That she knew, subtly, what was happening now to her and not Ellana would change it all— change her role, change things that could and should not be changed. Was anything in time a fixed point? She wondered, constantly.The memories of another time roared back to life in her with each passing night they had traveled towards the Conclave. She knew. She knew. She treasured each day she had with Ellana on the road, thinking “This is it, finally. _Finally freedom.”_  

Any moment, the Seeker would come to her, as soon as it was known she was awake. Rosal stayed as still as possible and kept her breathing even, so as to put off the inevitable. Then the Nightingale would arrive, and Seeker and her would leave together as Prisoner and Jailer. On the way the Dwarf and… the Wolf, though he was not the Wolf to her yet, he was Pride. _He calls himself Pride._ Now was a comparatively simple time. Pushing the old throughs from her clouded head, she concentrated on who she was now. She was Rosal, no one else. She was Rosal who longed for Compassion, her companion in this. He had stayed as long as he could, then departed _“Until we meet again, you know we will, somehow. I cannot see how._  

 

She rustled, and sat. Her hand belched out a painful mighty scream, as did she. The guards considered her immediately, and one left to fetch the Seeker.

 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?” She paused, “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who was there is dead…. except for you.”

 

She sat in silence before her dry throat croaked out in overwhelming sadness,“…all those people.”

 

“ _Explain this.”_ Cassandra grabbed her hand roughly.

 

“I cannot.” More like she would not, could not. She could, but… ah, her mind reeled. What was appropriate? She wanted to ask Wisdom, she wanted to find Hope she would not ruin this for everyone. The confusion on her face made a good front for her actual lack of surprise.

 

“What do you mean you can’t?”

 

“I…don’t remember what happened to me.” It was true, she did not know what happened to her precisely. She did not want to lie if possible— _Tell the Truth, but tell it slant._ “The last memories I have is a call for help…”

 

The bard pulled Cassandra from her, expectedly. “We need her, Cassandra.”

 

“What do you mean, a call for help?”

 

 _Success is Circuit lies._ She pulled from Rosal’s memories, not the other’s. _“_ I remember… running. _”_

 

_Too bright for our infirm Delight_

 

“Things were chasing me… and then a woman?” Yes, the Divine. But that was not relevant right now— right now they needed to believe the mystery and let Faith fill in the rest.

 

_The Truth's superb surprise_

 

“A woman?” The cloaked bard’s response was softer than she expected.

 

_As Lightning to the Children eased_

 

 _“_ She reached out to me?”

 

_With explanation kind_

 

“But then…” And that was enough for now. All they needed to move forward.

 

_The Truth must dazzle gradually_

 

They were predictably satisfied for the moment, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

 

_Or every man be blind._

 

Rosal breathed out, “What did happen?”

 

And the Seeker responded. “It will be easier to show you.”

 

The rest passed quickly, too quickly. They blamed her, of course. Her hand jumped at every surge, and she agreed to do whatever she could to help. This placated Cassandra, momentarily. Cassandra freed her wrists from constraint and they headed towards a rift, demons littered among the way. _Do not think on it, kill._ She repeated the mantra in her head, as she did when she was hunting. It helped a bit, but it still hurt, for she knew spirits and demons were also real and alive here, that she was destroying a being haphazardly pulled into this world and perverted beyond its intent. She felt empathy for them— a kind of kinship, even.

 

They eventually came upon the rift. She was already tired by the time she saw the rift— a foreboding of what was to come shifted through her as she got her second wind. As the last terror was cut to down, _he_ grabbed her hand and thrust it into the rift’s center. She felt a gentle prod at her mana—“Hurry, before more come through!”

 

It snapped, and shut, “What did you do?”

 

She felt his eyes graze over her, appraisingly. His eyes flashed a hint of curiosity, surprise, letting her know that later there would be questions to come and prod at her shell. _Tread carefully, lest he hear your steps._ Did he know? She remembered, no, her old self remembered his near omniscient perception when it came to the Fade. It was his nature to sense such magic and it was on her and in her.Her mana, her spirit, it reached out and overflowed from her. Compassion always remarked it was a glass too full, the clothes of a child bursting at the seams. Always too much, even when he so carefully worked to remove from the glass that which she could no longer stand. _But never too much, never the important parts._ There were a lot of important parts.

 

“I did nothing, the credit is yours.” His voice betrayed nothing. He had stroked, eased the power from her hand, she knew this but would play his game.

 

A sad smile sat on her face, “Ah, well. What matters is it worked and is not merely a painful party trick.”

 

“Whatever magic opened the Breech in the sky also placed that mark on your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breech’s wake… and it seems I was correct.” Of course.

 

“Meaning it could close the Breech itself…” Cassandra seemed in awe, slightly, and looked to Rosal with an expression less daunting.

 

“Possibly.” the elf paused, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

 

“Good to know, and here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” The Dwarf introduced himself. Varric Tethras, how could she forget his name? Somehow it had been lost to her and he was just a feeling, a presence. _Occasionally, an unwelcome tag-along._ He was persuasive and held a glib tongue between his cheeks. He would join them in the Valley.

 

“My name is Solas if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” Was that genuine relief she felt? Rosal was sure it was. It must be; he can’t be a liar all the time. No one is that good.

 

Varric smirked, “What he means is, I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

 

“I owe you my thanks, it seems. You seem to know a great deal about this all.” She smiled, shyly. He did help, even if it was underpinned with his own goals there was genuine care there. Somewhere, in a part of him that thought her real. He did not know it yet, and wore the jaw of a wolf around his neck as a reminder to keep him rooted firmly in what was real. A reminder he broke his jaw crushing his own arrow for making the same _mistake_ he also was destined to make. _Felassan, you died for naught. He wears his regret around his neck, though he does not recognize it yet as regret. All is regret for him._

 

“Ah, I am pleased to have helped.” He smiled slightly, curious eyes still boring into hers unwavering. He saw something there, something pooling and deep, and its roots that spread into the Fade. Those roots would be her tell. Why was her suffering so apparent? Rosal thought she might try doing a better job, and not wearing her heart so openly on her chest, but where else was it to go? _There is no room inside_ , Compassion had said to her one sorrowful night, _you are everywhere_.

 

“Like you, Solas is an apostate.”

 

“ _Technically_ all mages are now apostates, Cassandra. My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade— _far_ beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I could give with the Breech. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.” Solas’ words flowed as a true politicians did. He was an actor, and _actors are the opposite of people._ _An actor will die a thousand deaths, a man will die but one._

 

 _“_ That’s a commendable attitude, Solas.” Her eyes fluttered and titled under his gaze, unable to hold his stare much longer.

 

“Merely a sensible one. Although, sense seems to be in short supply right now. Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is _a mage_ , but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such a power.”

 

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.” And they were off. Demons troubled them again in an unrelenting, confusing struggle. They did not know why they attacked, but the result would be the same.

 

“You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”

 

“Yes, they sent me with another, Ellana, a hunter. She is…what do you know of the Dalish?” It came out a bit more defensively than she intended. She hurt thinking of Ellana, now dead and burned away in the ash.

 

“I have wondered many roads in my time, crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.” Completely neutral response, was he testing the waters? Of course comradery was better than conflict, and there was much she disliked about the closed-minded view of _her_ people.

 

Her voice softened to him, “We are both of the same people, Solas.”

 

This response alit a small but pleased smile on his face, “The Dalish I met felt… differently about such things.”

 

It was odd to her he delighted in such a small level of acceptance, “There are closed-minded people everywhere, I suppose. I am sorry you had a bad experience— my own clan would have treated you differently and welcomed you any repose from travel you required. But yes, many are bitter towards humans and their perceived sympathizers, confused, and suffer from their own misplaced pride.”

 

Clearly he was surprised, “I was not expecting such an honest response. Or that you should openly admit to such a fault.”

 

“Is self-reflection an unattainable quality for the Dalish?”

 

“That is… not what I meant. I welcome the opportunity to be shown I was wrong about the Dalish, at least.”

 

Varric scruffed and sighed, “Can’t you two elves just… _play_ nice for once?”

 

“But I’m terrible at acting, Varric, unlike you.”

 

Cassandra barked a laugh and urged them forward towards a gate that lead to the forward camp. Another rift and solders battling demons stood between them. She underestimated how tiring it was, this constant state of agitation. It was not like she’d been well rested or fed before they shot off into the mountain. She felt herself a bit light headed as she snapped another rift shut, this time with no aid.

 

Leliana, again, and the Chancellor Roderick waited for them with disagreement and a decision. She was tired, so tired, and she knew if she chose the mountain pass those solders would die. Reaching deep within herself, she made the decision but only because she knew it would not kill her. She annoyingly did not die so easily. _Or ever._ Shush.

 

The mountain pass was cold, and her lethargy was becoming visible. Again. Cassandra had shoved another slew of healing potions into her hand at the forward camp, insisting she down one before their ascent. It hadn’t lasted very long, and she longed for reprise in some other manner. Rosal’s nerves ate at her empty stomach; if she ate she would vomit. The air was thinner in the mountains and harder to handle when she came from lowlands. Her struggle was magnified when they finally exited the demon-riddled mine and fell upon what had kept the solders— another rift. Larger than the last two, but not nearly as terrifying as the Breech above them. Sweat drew across her brow as she snapped another shut.

 

 _Pride_ , no, Solas, approached her, “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

 

“Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric stared off into the distance, eyes on that far away place behind the sky that now pierced through.

 

The solders were glad to be alive, no doubt. Cassandra quickly dispatched them down to the Valley and they moved towards the ominous feeling down many crumbling paths and steps. The small voice in Rosal’s head cried to her, warning her again this would be no painless task. The Breech, the Demon, the Darkness: all awaited her. Ellana’s body, the others— they were all there, feet stuck to the ground and flesh melted in place. The Breech called to her, pulled at her. Ripped, tore, sundered her the closer they got. Green rays of light reflected off their armor but banished no shadows, nor cast them.

 

Finally, it was above them. Green upon green. _What is green?_ Cassandra’s voice broke her contemplation, “This is your chance to end it. Are you ready?”

 

“I’ll try, but…” She gazed to that far away place. What was the point? Why not _let_ it consume them? _The Fade belongs here as much as they, does it not?_

 

Solas watched her hesitation. She did not need to finish her through allowed, with it writ so clearly on her continence, “No, this rift was first and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breech.”

 

The green mixed with red. Red rocks. Red lyrium. Voices echoing, one her own, calling out in pain. _The red man, the angry red man who created this._ She knew, not from Rosal, but from before, where and who. His name was? _Corypheus._ She dare not speak it.

 

“…That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra’s stoic face cracked into emotion, “…and that was your voice. Most Holy called out to you! You were there! What happened?”

 

But Rosal did not remember, as _She_ had. A small, half lie would do. _Tell all the Truth but tell it slant._ “I do not know, it’s…gone.”

 

Solas words soothed the emotional reverb in the air, bringing the, back to the task at hand. “They’re echoes of what’s happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed but it is closed, all be it temporarily. I believe with the mark the rift can be opened, then sealed properly and safely. However opening this rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

 

Cassandra recollected herself, “That means demons. Stand ready!” 

 

It should have been Ellana, not her. Rosal could not shut the anxious mantra out of her mind and she quivered as the massive Pride demon erupted before her. She’d never seen such a large demon. _It can crush you so easily._ The thought should not bring her relief, but it did. It was selfish of her and she was easily distracted. Cassandra hollered at her as she dove towards the rift, narrowly avoiding horrors swarming her. A barrier erupted around her seconds before one moved to claw at her face. Solas may not be as powerful as he would be, but he was still as sharp.

 

The demon fell, and she rushed with her waning energy to the rift. _Perhaps I won’t wake in three days time._ She took a deep breath and raised her hand to the sky, watching as her conscious faded the great gap stitch closed.

 

 _Ellana would have done better,_ she thought as it faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this lovely Emily Dickinson poem I keep sitting in my janky journal:
> 
> Tell all the Truth but tell it slant --  
> Success in Circuit lies  
> Too bright for our infirm Delight  
> The Truth's superb surprise
> 
> As Lightning to the Children eased  
> With explanation kind  
> The Truth must dazzle gradually  
> Or every man be blind --
> 
>  
> 
> And yes, Rosal has a huge inferiority complex so even though she has the capacity to be excellent and does do good work, she does not have the confidence. She does what needs to be done, but fails to see her own success or her success as her own. Misattributing her success to the current nameless co-protagonist stuck in the back of her mind, which robs her of her own confidence since there is no problem for Rosal to solve. She knows the questions, and the answers, which is a lot like going into an exam with your course packet. Sure, you'd mark well, but would you learn? Would you feel any level of accomplishment? She could change things if she knew her own strength. 
> 
> Maybe Solas can help.
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> ~~You know... with his dick.~~  
> 


	4. If your hand sins, cut it off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These stumbling blocks must come, but woe to the man through whom they come!

The sky unfolded around her. Not just sky, but everywhere. The sky in the Fade was also the ground as well as as much as you could perceive; a tranche of a whole one entity could never fully hold. It never was a complete experience, and even the most lucid of dreams often felt fabricated. Memories were the most believable. _None of this is real._ Tonight, or today (whatever time it was in waking life she did not know) she was watching a scene from weeks earlier: Keeper Deshanna applying the vallas’lin to her face, neck, and decollete. The roots traveled down further, yes, past her navel and wrapping around her hips. They felt more like an anchor than the humming in her hand— a stark reminded of body and self, and how she _was_ real and separate and different. She’d thought she’d hate them, but now she thought it appropriate. Rosal appropriated the markings and made them her own; they were not Dalish or Elvhen to her, and till she could shed them, it was how she would endure.

What no one spoke of when they spoke of vallas’lin in the clan was the humility and embarrassment and pain; to lay naked and still for hours among her feasting clan while she took not even water and used pangs of hunger to mask pangs of shame. There was always a feast. Rosal never pictured herself the reason before and when the day finally came she felt horrified. The flicker of firelight, and shadowy faces unmoved by her whimpers of pain and knee-jerk reaction to the crude needle picking at her skin. Thousands of years of this, and no one thought to make a better tool? Did the People’s creativity end with June and Sylaise? He was but a man, and Sylasie but a woman; surely it’s possible to move past one fixed point. Maybe she expected too much out of a people paralyzed with inaction and clinging to superstition grown out of miscommunication and half-truths. _Still bitter._

 

It was not like she’d managed to change anything. The world ticked onwards despite the blunt tool of filtered knowledge she possessed.

 

Her face had itched and ached for weeks during their travel. She carefully gave mind to hygiene per Keeper’s instructions so that the tattoos healed properly and achieved the desired result. That day at the Conclave, there was still scabs and blood on her face, even before she entered the Fade. Still rough and new was this mantel of adulthood. She was 19. Had she gotten to 20 and still remained barefaced, the Keeper might have asked her to leave and find herself elsewhere. Might. Deshanna loved her, she was sure of it, as a mother loved a child. Deshanna had no children of her own in the clan— all had been female and married into others— so the motherless Rosal was a natural surrogate for her maternal instinct.

 

Rosal’s father, Shale, was the clan’s craftsman; he was a quiet man with little to say, though her memories of him during her youth were much more vibrant. Anytime she voiced her worries, he was not ashamed or judgmental of her; there was a quiet acceptance she appreciated, that made spending time around him meditative. From him she learned to nurture a small love for herself, and find more practical ways to deal with her overflowing feelings. When sadness takes hold, focus your mind and notch and fletch arrows or sand a bow.

 

The edges of her fabricated forest fizzled and rippled; she felt a movement like a spirt but spirits usually made themselves known to her so this was not that. Is it a real man? _Real comes from outside, not within,_ she constantly reminded herself _, though some would disagree._

 

She lost the footing on the scene, distracted by the corner of her eye. Like some truth, waiting for her, but never making itself known. Fear crept into this place, making it unpleasant; _Fear is the crack that might flood your brain with light._ She willed the scene to pass and soon she was methodically fletching arrows, a slightly younger version of herself but still very fresh. Long, dark eyelashes tickled her rosy cheeks and shielded her piercing, crystalline eyes from the little tuffs of feathers floating upwardly in the wind. She was fair as were most of her clansmen and women; her clan had been forest-bound for years now and most of them basked in the shade of trees instead of the sunlit meadows that broke apart the groves. The contrast of her pale skin and black hair drew comments from the do-gooder women trying to teach her to bend her feminine wiles in a more pleasing manner.

 

“Get a little sun, it will do your complexion well and you won’t look so unwell. The boys would like it if you will,” One matron had said, hand on her hip, “Though you look so like your mother this way.”

 

_My mother was a sick woman when you knew her._

 

“I am not interested in boys. I’m interested in…” her dream self looked to her hands and grasped what lay in her lap, “Feathers.”

 

“You will be. How old are you now, da’len?”

 

“Fifteen.” Rosal watched herself tuck a feather behind her ear shyly. For a moment she found herself pretty and womanish— but only just. Her slight build and birdlike features still reflected more her girlishness than current self. What a difference three years could make for a woman.

 

The memory of the woman laughed, teasingly, “I was going to guess twelve. You are…”

 

She trailed off in her speech, instead appraising Rosal with a hint of affection in her eyes.

 

Obviously this response had not pleased Rosal, who’s brow fretted, “I am nearly a woman.”

 

“Do not wish it to pass so quickly, da’len. Treasure your childhood as long as you can.” She had smiled sweetly, and Rosal remembered she did like the woman. “It will come soon enough you are as old as I, and worries up to your knees and longing for simpler days with less aches and empty breasts.”

 

She shifted the conversation, “Did you know my mother well, hahren?”

 

“Better than some.” The woman sat next to Rosal and began braiding her hair as she worked; it had been summer and her long hair had stuck to the back of her neck, hot and cumbersome. No wonder so many cut it short. The woman, _Lani_ she remembered, took the tucked feather and wove it into the strands of her thick wavy hair.

 

Rosal prodded slightly, “Do you have any stories about her?”

 

“As teenagers we once were sent into a new village to trade skins and crafts with the humans, and your mother, after being snubbed and ignored for the better part of an afternoon, approached a dwarven caravan passing through the end of the same town. She asked if they would be willing to trade or buy, and explained the humans had turned her away as an elf. Upon hearing this, the dwarves bought everything we had and then sold it to the same humans that had refused it prior for well over the price we had asked. When she asked how they’d managed, the dwarf had said they’d been eager to buy after he lied and said we’d met our fate after stealing from them what they'd honestly purchased from us. Said we were trying to make profit twice on the same lot.”

 

Rosal mumbled, “That is… unfortunate.“

 

“It is no news that humans are as unkind as the Blight towards our people. But it doesn’t end there, you see, your mother was clever.”

 

“How so?” Her ears perked.

 

“After our perceived success, Keeper sent us to the next town a season later to try again. It was a larger city, I can’t remember it’s name for certain but I do remember joking along with Maelan it rhymed with _arse_. Anyway, this time she went immediately to the same sort of folks that turned us down earlier. We’d spotted some dwarves merchants, and even a few flat ears who would trade our wares, but she instead went right to the humans. When I questioned her methods she had a twinkle in her eye and said to just watch.” Lani tied back a plait of her hair and hummed, admiring her work on Rosal’s head.

 

“And then?”

 

“After being laughed and jeered out of the human’s merchant’s tent, and called some names I’d rather not repeat, we went to the dwarves. And there your mother hatched her plan. This time she _offered_ to the dwarves a hand in a ruse. She’d turned their trick into her own.”

 

“A ruse?”

 

“Yes, they would get a _share_ of the profit. See, she’d already done half the work in arousing their anger and she was the source of tension so she called the shots! The dwarves weren’t hated as we were, so they could not profit. The dwarves would sell their wares and get 50% more than they originally asked by explaining to the human’s they’d picked such fine wares off two unfortunate Dalish who’d been bested by a pack of wolves after stealing from them their honestly purchased goods. She asked from the dwarves significantly more than she’d asked the humans. The real value was closer to what she’d asked from the humans, though she’d approached them in a way they believed she was underselling her wares and was a tad desprate.”

 

“So she made money on someones racism?”

 

“Well… _yes._ A page right from the Trickster’s book. The dwarves did not care much for the humans of the town either, and thought it a fine scheme and were always eager to pull one over on the daft fools.” She sighed, “And they _were_ fools.”

 

“I suppose clever in a way, but I fail to see how that is _good_ for us in the end if she just confirmed some misconception.”

 

“Let them believe what they will, _da’len_. There are bad people everywhere, and I doubt these people didn’t already believe something horrid about us.” Lani sighed, “I miss her so. It is a shame you got so few years with her, if you had… perhaps things would be different. You are not much like her, besides your looks. Much more like your father…”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“So…” she huffed, “Remorseful. What troubles you, da’len?”

 

_Woe to the world for the causes of sin._

 

She smiled, “Do you ever get the feeling you’ve seen things before, or done things before, though you know you haven’t?”

 

“Of course, though, I imagine a mage like yourself would feel it more often, being so connected to the Fade. Does this bother you often?”

 

“It’s… frustrating.” She huffed. Rosal remembered at this age, she was still so confused and trying to sort out her feelings. Often she rambled on about stories that her father would smile and write off as an over-active imagination. “The Keeper thinks I’m a know-it-all, _but I swear, I am not trying to be surly!”_

 

_These stumbling blocks must come, but woe to the man through whom they come!_

 

“Ah, you had a fight earlier. I heard part of it. She means the best, _da’len,_ it would not hurt to bend a bit.”

 

The dream faded on Lani’s words and rippled. Pools of light transformed into another scene around her. This memory, this place, was the most vivid of her old self. Though she’d lost much imagery and facts over the years, and her memory was in no way perfect, this remained. A nearly cloudless sky over a white beach and smooth, windblown shells at her feet. The water was clear and turquoise and lapped endlessly at her feat. Dunes of sand sprawled out behind her, the wind making rippled patterns in the sand much the same as waves.

 

She was herself, Rosal, but in clothes Rosal’s body had never worn: a white, woven wrap opening over a simple white bathing suit. The winds danced sand over her exposed skin, the wrap doing little to protect her from its endless caresses to her bare stomach, thighs, and chest.

 

In these dreams she was always herself; the memory of her other form was too hard to hold onto, as was this self’s name. It was there— Compassion knew it. If she saw the spirit again, she would ask.

 

The short, white, lace hem of her thigh-length wrap blew upwards in a strong gust. Her legs were long and toned from life in the forest, and though she was only slightly taller than average, they made her appear taller when away from any comparison. Her body had begun to fill out, as most women’s did at her age, and the gentle slopes of her figure grew softer and more pronounced with each passing month. Hips to grip onto and a now supple chest to announce her maturity. Here there were only birds as far as the eye could see, and waves. Caws from crows and the haws from seagulls broke cacophonously against the rhythmic beating of the ocean. Sinking to the beach she sighed, digging her hands through the smooth sand. It was a small strip of an island; she forgot the name, but it did not matter. A crab crawled out of a tiny hole and then scurried quickly back into its home. No other footprints littered the sandbar but her own and perhaps the birds. She sat like this, calming herself with the breeze.

 

Where was she outside of this? What had happened? Ah, pain from waking life had drove her here, as it always did. Her meager existence and normal worries now overflowed with the grief of what was to come. Pain, overflowing. Pain in her hand, overflowing pain. Pain touched the sand, the ocean, the waves somehow a sorrowful shade of blue. The sky somehow dimmer.This memory was outside before, outside what she was supposed to know. It was pure but now everything, even this, was tainted. The sin of knowing stretched before her a beach.

 

_If your hand or your foot causes you to fall into sin, cut it off and throw it away._

 

In the corner of her eye, Rosal saw again the shadow she’d felt earlier; perhaps it was a demon? It hovered on the horizon and she cautiously rose again to her feet. She did not have the ability to change her dreams so significantly that any drastic alteration to the memory would be self directed; she could mentally drift and view her memories in dreams, and interact with the world she created, but she could not create entities. It must be a spirit, or a demon, or? She dropped the thought and returned to the peace of the ocean. Walking up a dune, she glanced at the edge of the brush that sat inland between the two beaches.

 

_It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than to have two hands and two feet and be thrown into the eternal fire._

 

Night after night she wondered if what Compassion had told her was true— that they could not take what she was not willing to give. Her fear drew Fear often enough— that they would rob from her the only piece she had to make sane her patchwork life.

 

_And if your eye causes you to fall into sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.…_

 

But maybe she was stubborn, maybe it was she who must heed to the advice of spirits. Should she not cast it aside, let nature take the course it was intended to take? Somehow, even without the grace she was granted by whatever God or Maker or spirit, or even chance had granted her, the capacity for success still existed. _Or was it Fate?_

 

Perhaps it _was_ necessary. The voice in her mind clung on, as a dying patient clings to his failing life, using whatever drastic means to prolong breaths that simply amounted to suffering. This life inside her refused to die, and clung desperately to her own. It tells her lies, _sins_ , to stay true. _You need me. You cannot succeed in this without me. What you know, your gift, will be your making. Without me you are less than enough._

  
And without  _her,_ the dreams might stop. These lovely dreams that made her feel special and capable.  _No more dreams? No, more dreams, child._ Rosal selfishly realized that was hugely why she resisted the aid of spirits; the dreams she'd had on earth could not compare, and the power was one she was not willing to part with anytime soon.   
 

Ellana could have done better, she could have done this by simply being herself. Sure, she was a normal girl, but normal people are nearly always amazing when given chance. Rosal was not normal— she was weak, she was soft. She was the tree that did not bend, but turned to stone and crumbled to its roots. Whatever she was good for she had yet to understand.

 

With slightly shaking voice, Rosal called out to the brush, where the shadow had flashed and burnt out from her dream, “Hello? Are you a spirit? You can come, I will not mind.”

 

Again the shadow leered on the precipice, pulsing out waves of curiosity. She could read these emotions, which sparked and flared at her own curiosity. “No, no spirit…?”

 

She realized whatever it was— or whoever— was content to watch. She smiled sadly, “You can enjoy this place as you wish, if you wish. I shall not bother you again but you’re welcome to join me as well.”

 

She turned and returned to her beach, her meditation. She began collecting and counting shells. There was no end to them, on the wind whipped beach made from them. Each shell, ground down by another until it was tiny and grains. Shells destroying shells. She felt the shadow still watching. Rosal somehow knew it was moving with her, silently accepting her invitation. Keeper would have admonished her for how she behaved towards these trespassers, but she did not care. What had she to lose? _Everything, selfish girl. The world has everything to lose._

 

She slipped her wrap off and piled the shells on it to weigh it down before dipping a toe into the water. Without hesitation, she flung herself into the ocean, swimming vigorously towards the horizon. A thin sand bank was in the distance. She felt the shadow still, but this time more pronounced; perhaps it was benevolent? It had not made any move to hurt her, or interact, just observe, and it was no longer hiding itself. Some spirits were shy, and required time to make themselves known but this was no spirit. The energy was _too real_ , _too overwhelming_. It had the energy to conceal itself and shape her dream around it, which made her mind swim with questions.

 

After some time, Rosal stood on a sand bank and viewed the beach. Birds landed next to her, picking at some crabs revealed when the tide receded. Her left hand ached and pulsed, and she automatically moved to rub it with her right, face contorted in the sharpening pain. _Even here it hurts?_ There was no escaping that it was now part of her, dreaming and waking. She felt the shadow graze her and a wave of empathy and apology overwhelmed her, weaving into the tips of her fingers and soothing the sparking mark. She sighed with relief, her whole form relaxing its tension as the shadow directed the pulses from her hand into what felt like a drain directed at the shadow itself. The manipulation bordered on pleasurable and a soft moan escaped her lips. The clouds that had gathered in the sky dispersed. Rosal was no longer in pain and _the shadow had helped_. More than that, _it had influenced her feeling, and made her feel unquestionably good._ She was embarrassed how _good_ it had felt.

 

Legs tingling and shaking slightly, she laid on the small sand island and bathed in the sun with a small smile on her lips. Rosal began to feel the sleepiness and contentment that usually accompanied the end of this particular dream and resulted in her exit from dreaming itself; she was beginning to wakeup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a religious person by any means, but this is a particular poignant verse from the bible that fits quite well and inspired this chapter a bit:
> 
>    
> Matthew 18:8 
> 
>  
> 
> _Woe to the world for the causes of sin. These stumbling blocks must come, but woe to the man through whom they come! If your hand or your foot causes you to fall into sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than to have two hands and two feet and be thrown into the eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to fall into sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.…_


	5. Veering from the path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What was that? He already can sense you here. Give it a proper knock, not an awkward, half-assed door-tickle._

It’d been a lifetime since she’d slept on a bed. One positive point of staying put, or having a permanent home, was furniture. _Staying put_ was something Danish left to desire. Furniture to sleep on, places to put things… art and pelts on walls and locks on a door. Real privacy. However, this cabin was not filled with her own things, but someone else’s. _Her_ meager belongings, Rosal noted upon turning her head on her pillow towards the right, were laying upon the lid of a trunk. Her newly crafted Keeper’s robes that Deshanna insisted she take with her was the best their clan had produced in ages, she’d been told. Deshanna kept under wraps the entire gift, which was no small feat considering Rosal’s own father had helped heavily in its creation. No small feat considering privacy was low in a clan, and keeping secrets was a painful undertaking since everyone was very concerned with everyone’s private business. Hell, the entire clan knew she had a birthmark that looked like an embrium flower on her left ass cheek, that she’d gotten her first period at thirteen, and that at seventeen Keeper had caught her, needle in hand, assisting Ellana with _certain_ _piercings_ (to enhance the experience _)_ to _look more like bonding material_ (i.e. bedroll material) to possible _suitors_ (i.e. possible flings) prior to the last Arlathvhen. Ellana was an easy friend; she accepted and loved most, and tried her best to please the Keeper and gain acceptance all around. She studied the lore and never questioned Keeper’s authority on the matter. The boys loved beautiful, blushing Ellana; charming and chatty, sexy, and talented, she always shined brighter and bolder. She’d lay next to Rosal at night, excitedly bubbling about the future and her first kiss, her first love, her first time laying with a lover, and first time breaking up. So many firsts Rosal herself had yet to see herself, or find the energy to pursue. Ellana dove into life and love unafraid and unparalyzed by fear of failures; she had a certain overwhelming (and slightly annoying) confidence.

 

It amazed Rosal they kept such a comparatively large gift a secret from her or Ellana, who’d received fine hunter’s attire and a beautiful ironbark bow. Gifts for any occasion were not a common Dalish practice and certainly this was the first time in memory she’d ever received one so valuable. Each chainlink was carefully formed, preciously welded. She felt loved when she looked upon it, and remembered not all was distasteful about the last few weeks and she could depend on her clan, or at least Deshanna and her father. Clan Lavellan, despite a tense adolescence, had provided a loving family for her and gave Rosal the best support and childhood they could manage. She really should not complain. She really should not feel such bitterness about being sent to the Conclave, or the expectations of the Keeper or clan’s hahren; looking at the gift reminded her how selfish she could be with her feelings, and that her own perspective was deeply flawed at times. She must learn to be a leader. While she slept, someone had cleaned the armor very carefully for her and not a speck of blood or dirt remained. The iron and leather-wrapped Enchanter staff next to it was nicer than the simple wooden one she’d snatched before their decent into the Valley. The gifted Keeper staff that accompanied the armor was nowhere in sight; she’d probably lost it before the rift swallowed her. Somewhere in the Valley, among the bodies and Red Lyrium, it must lay in pieces. All that hard work— all that love in its crafting— a waste.

 

Rosal groaned and sat up. Abruptly, the door opened and her privacy ended. A maid servant bustled in, then started, abruptly dropping the box she was carrying with a clatter and falling to her knees, muttering a plea for forgiveness.“Forgive me, I did not know you were awake, I was only…”

 

 _Please stop bowing, I am not a savior._ “No problem, I mean, where is this? It’s not like this is truly my home so…thank you for helping me. Please, do not bend for me so.”

 

“I merely seek your blessing, I am but a humble servant…you are back in Haven, m’lady.” She did not rise, despite Rosal’s request. “They say you saved us. The Breech stopped growing— just like the mark on your hand! It’s all that anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

 

“Three days? That was… three days ago?” It had barely felt like a night, and she was still tired and her mana felt depleted. “I survived. It is gone then, the Breech? Did I close it?”

 

“It is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.”

 

Rosal got to her feet and stood before the young girl, “Please, I do not want you to bow. Please. We shouldn’t bow to anyone, as elves…”

 

The girl slowly got to her feet, voice still timid. “They say you were sent by Andraste…one of the People, one of us, sent by Andraste. I feel proud, as an elf, that she should send someone like us.”

 

Rosal smiled sadly at her misplaced pride, “I do not remember what happened, you know, so it could be any number of reasons. What is your name?”

 

“My name?” She seemed taken aback that anyone should ask, “M-my name is Glynnda, and Cassandra has asked me to see to your daily needs. Anything you should want, do not hesitate to ask myself or the requisition officers. Cassandra wants to see you, she said to let her know ‘at once’ when you awoke.” She turned slightly, hesitating on whether to leave as Rosal’s gaze penetrated her curiously.

 

“Don’t leave yet, please” She wasn’t ready yet, to face Cassandra, “Is this cabin someones? And these clothes.”

 

“This cabin is yours now, m’lady, as are the clothes. There are additional things in the chest for your use. We cleaned your armor as best we could and the blacksmith made repairs where he saw dents.”

 

“Did I displace someone? Was this someones house that I’ve taken over?” Rosal felt guilty: had her perceived divinity compromised someone’s home? Did Cassandra kick someone out because she was now _holy?_ Cassandra was devout, but shit.

 

“He… Regalyan died in the Valley, so he shan’t be using this cabin now. He started staying here during the Conclave— before that it was an elderly man’s and had sat vacant for a few months.” Shadow’s from the candle light flickered across Glynnda’s face. “Cassandra had you carried and cared for here.”

 

“Ah. I am sorry to hear that.” She glanced around the cabin. Books on circle magic were stacked on a shelf, along with vials and flasks. “Was he a mage?”

 

“Yes, he was a close… friend… of Cassandra’s, and a Circle mage. We left his books— if you do not want them, let me know and I will move them. The apostate elf took a few to his cabin when he was through observing you.”

 

“Solas?” Ah, yes, _Solas_ was responsible for her continued survival. His will alone kept her alive the first time, it felt, and certainly aided her these past three days. _You and your hand belong to the Wolf now— of course he is worried about the key to ‘salvation’ perishing at the fumbling hands of an alchemist. You are a precious and fragile tool._ In _her_ memories, Solas loved Ellana, truly, though it did not ultimately deter him from his ‘duty.’ But she was not Ellana, and Rosal questioned if she possessed enough wisdom and grace to turn his stone heart and show him she was real, as was this world. _He must see this is all real._ If she could not win his heart, she must win his respect and friendship. _Win his heart? Do you want it already? This is no game, no fantasy— people are more complicated and flawed than you can imagine and love is not so simple. Remember last time you loved, how wrecked it left you? It killed you, weak fool._

 

“He was very helpful and where Master Aden lacked skill, he managed. He left early this morning when he felt you were stable to get rest in his own cabin, though he’d spent the better part of three days sleeping in the arm chair next to you. Master Solas was very worried and did not trust Master Aden’s opinion, as he is an alchemist, not a healer, and you were very fragile and also an elven lady so….” Her voice trailed off and Glynnda cleared her throat.

 

“I should properly thank him, it seems I am again indebted to his skill for preserving my life.” Rosal looked towards her armor. “Will you help me change? It is hard for one person to slip on, and I am used to spare hands.”

 

“Of course!” The maid smiled and jumped at the chance to be useful, beaming at the request.

 

Rosal started to slip out of her fitted, beige shirt, noting underneath she was clad in human chest bindings and ghastly pink, frilly smalls smattered with little embroidered red hearts. _Who in the world picked these out their so girly— Ah, must be Cassandra._ They felt unusually tight compared to her normal, as elves did not take to wearing much in the ways of undergarments or footwear. She picked at the uncomfortable binding and grimaced, slipping one finger into the band and pulling slightly.

 

“Ah, I did not know if you preferred such a thing, but with so many men in and out of the cabin Cassandra and I thought it best to preserve your modesty and dressed you appropriately. It wasn’t much, but better than _naked_.”

 

“Ah, thank you for that. You are correct. And the tunic I wore below the armor?” She slipped out of the offending articles, standing unabashed and perfectly nude before young Glynnda, who glanced wistfully at her fuller, more adult figure. Her heavy chest bounced free and she sighed in relief. How did the humans wear this all day? How did _she_ wear this all day when she was human? _You didn’t, your puny body was built more like Glynnda and did not need such things._

 

“Covered in blood and unrepairable, I’m afraid. When you were in the Valley a claw pierced your back and slipped through your armor— did you not notice? I saw the wound and it looked quiet painful. I imagine it’ll scar.” Glynnda helped her fit the replacement undershirt on over her head. The lambswool was not quite what she was used to, but close. The Dalish preferred lighter cloths, like cotton and silks bought from merchants, when available. They did use wool, but only in heavier, winter clothes or for halla saddle linings. Somehow this wool was thin and lightly spun in some trick of modern human ingenuity.

 

“No, I am afraid not. I was distracted with the giant hole over my head, and the demons. Many demons.” She paled at the thought. Rosal was used to demons and spirits in the Fade, not these aggressive, horrific looking demons now plaguing the landscape. They should not be here; _none of them should be here._

 

“Of course! I can’t imagine…” Glynnda shook her head, “It is truly the Maker’s work that you’re alive.”

 

“You are Andrastian, Glynnda?” Rosal adjusted the chain mail around her torso before looking to the next layer.

 

“I sing the Chant, yes.” She straightened her own posture at the statement and latched the plating upon Rosal’s right shoulder. “Many elves in these parts do, too, though we are… ignored by the Chantry, for the most part. My father was Andrastian, and my mother tried to follow the Old Ways with he others in the alienage… I am sure you’re familiar.”

 

Rosal smiled, “Naturally. I am _Dalish.”_

 

“As a Dalish do you not scorn Andraste? And the Maker?” She could feel Glynnda’s tension as she tightened the belt around her waist.

 

“No, why should I? What is one more God in a sea of so many? No one knows the answer, Glynnda. We all do our best. Perhaps this _Maker_ holds answers about life as well.”

 

Glynnda beamed, gathering Rosal’s hair in a tight, elegant braid down her back before sealing it with a white satin ribbon, “Yes, I think so! You’re dressed and ready so please go to Cassandra— she is meeting with the Chancellor at the Chantry. I will leave ahead. Do you need help with the foot wrappings?”

 

“Oh, no,” she chuckled softly, sitting upon her bed and methodically wrapping her feet in leather strips, “That much I can manage on my own.”

 

The journey to the Chantry was uncomfortable. It seems Glynnda had informed the general public she’d awoken, or they’d figured it out for themselves upon her leaving the cabin. Curious eyes mixed with suspicious ones and she instantly realized where she stood among the people of Haven. They had stopped calling her a prisoner, a murderer, but still many were suspicious of her for either race or lack of a better scapegoat. She was a Dalish elf being proclaimed a savior, _the Herald of Andraste_ , the crowd murmured and saluted her with the kind of fervor she’d feared. _I am not holy and I was not picked out. I am not special and this could have been any number of people or races._

 

As she approached the heart of the Chantry, she heard the loud argument of the Chancellor against the familiar voice of Cassandra. She was defending her now _as she expected._ Such faith was a beautiful quality. The following conversation between the three of them affirmed this even more; Cassandra truly believed in the hand of the Maker and the word of Andraste. To believe like that was enviable in a way, but Rosal knew better, knew it was no divine mark. Still, she played _the game_ best she could, and agreed with her perspective. It was best to win Cassandra’s favor, though she felt dirty lying so blatantly to her. Showing warmth where she felt none steeled her. 

 

“We have no choice; we must act now, with you at our side.” Cassandra’s plea to stay, to help them rebuild and ally with the Inquisition. She knew it was no real choice before, that she must stay— but now there was. _Are you a coward? Would you see this world fall to ruin?_ _It will no matter._

 

The Inquisition. _People talk about it like it’s a person_ — Compassion’s words echoed in her head from far in the past. It would have a birth, and a death, yes. Leaving was no option.

 

“If you’re truly trying to restore order…” Rosal knew no better way. She could do something, perhaps. Maybe she could not do all that Ellana had, but she could do _something_ with this cursed hand.

 

“That is the plan.” Leliana smoothly interjected.

 

Cassandra moved to shake her hand, “Help us fix this before it is too late.” 

 

The mood of the town changed the moment it was declared, the moment the signs erected and the birds set off. Living a prophecy, Rosal could only play her stolen role as well as she could. Failure was no option. It felt like floating; her feet carried her from the Chantry and down the stone pathway. Haven was much larger than she imagined it would be, with many more eyes and smells and sounds than a forest filled with halla and bears and elves. Humans everywhere, humans in tents, humans in homes, humans behind market stalls and scrubbing stains out of clothes in wash tubs.

 

“You OK there, kiddo?” Varric’s voice pierced through her haze. “You look a little lost in your head. Understandably, so, considering you just went from the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have… spread that out over more than a few days. Especially since you spent the vast majority of that time unconscious.”

 

Her eyes pierced his unwaveringly, “Yes, well…I am still in disbelief. None of this feels real— it feels I will awaken any moment, and find it’s all been some elaborate nightmare.”

 

A small laugh escaped his mouth, “Well, it’s pretty real on my end. Dwarves don’t dream so I highly doubt this is a nightmare.”

 

“Though if you _were_ dreaming, would that not imply you could not recognize it? And that you aren’t _actually_ a dwarf?” An impish smile cracked her serene facade, sad glint in her gaze.

 

“Shit, don’t say that! Now I’ll never know if I’m not a human dreaming himself a devastatingly dashing dwarf. I’d say that this is an improvement, though, considering how much humans seem to fuck everything up.” He gave her a wink.

 

“You would make the most of it, I am sure.” Rosal gazed at the gaping hole still overhead, uncomfortable lull in the conversation pushing her back to the crutch of her faded memory, “I’m surprised you’d stay. I’m surprised anyone stayed.”

 

“I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this? Thousands of people died on that mountain, and now there’s a giant hole in the sky. I almost died on that mountain. I can’t just leave this.” He shook his head and turned his own eyes to the Breech.

 

“Ah, also, where would Varric Tethras be if not in the heart of the action, filtering it all through a quill?”

 

“Believe me, I’d rather have writer’s block than write another one of _these_ books, Rosie. You might want to consider running at the first opportunity— I’ve written enough tragedies to understand where this is going.” He grew stoic again, and somber.

 

“And where is that?”

 

Sadness. Had she sad something wrong? His face had shifted, “There’s a giant hole in the sky, demons, red lyrium cropping up, and the mage and Templar fiasco is still a _thing_ …. We’re going to need more than a hero. We need a miracle.”

 

“Well, I _am_ blessed now so… I will see what I can do.”

 

“Rosie, something tells me you don’t truly believe that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

 

“Oh, I don’t strike you as a faithful Andrastian?”

 

He motioned towards her face and feet,“You have vallas’lin and are barefoot.”

 

“Oh? You know about this?” she motioned to her face, “And I could have had a change of heart.”

 

“In less than a week? The ink looks fresh, kid. Yeah, I have a friend— Daisy— told me all about it.”

 

She sighed, “Fine, yes, not Andrastian. I can feel Cassandra’s wheels turning on that, though, with every mention. And do you rename every Dalish elf you meet after a flower?”

 

“Not every one— OK I only know two of your people, and _besides_ you had that nickname coming. Rosal? Too easy.” He sat on a bench by the fire and started ruffling through a bag, “Watch out, though, Cassandra’s a faithful one. Leliana, too. Both them will have you memorizing the Chant in no time.”

 

Rosal teetered on her feet, “They were the left and right hands of the Divine?”

 

“Ask them about that, but yeah.” He started shuffling through papers, and Rosal took the hint.

 

“Thanks for your time, Varric.” She smiled and waved.

 

The bustle of the town was unrelenting and she quickly lost herself among the unreal feeling of it all— the bakers, the traders, the cafes, and of course The Singing Maiden. At least that was consistent with her expectations. Her stomach lurched and she wandered inside, quietly pushing through the throngs of day-drunk merchants and new recruits. She sat at the bar and ordered whatever meal they were serving: root vegetable stew with rabbit and a chunk of soft bread slathered in salted cream butter. Surprisingly, no one bothered her. It seems sudden notoriety was good for isolation. Considering how poor most of the tavern patrons smelt, this was not necessarily a negative. Next time, she’d take her lunch outside with the fresher air.

 

 _What comes next?_ She should speak with towns people, make nice while she could, convince them of her _goodness_. _Well, that’s what a hero would do, what Ellana would do_. Really, she didn’t feel up to any of it. Cassandra had said to return to the Chantry prior to supper, to meet the rest of the advisers. She would keep busy till then, perhaps find some way to be useful. She had her own itinerary, as well: she needed to practice her offensive spell casting, read as much she could on the area, and consider picking up a drinking habit. The last item was more of a sardonic joke, but the weeks to come would be trying. She’d never killed more than a ram, and even that was a painful endeavor. To kill a man? She might as well come undone thinking about it. It would happen, it all would happen. How did Compassion do it? Since he was a spirit, he could simply _forget_. How easy that must be, how freeing. _He offered, you know_. She knew.

 

As she left the tavern, the sun dipping past the high noon point, she glanced up the steps leading to the Alchemist and of course, Solas’ cabin. She could speak with him any time she like, if she liked. Her heart hammered in her chest, feet tingled; he was much scarier to face when she knew what he was capable of doing. To her, to others, to the world. And yet…

 

She still wanted him, and believed he could change. Believed he could find another way to restore what was lost without destroying what was. Rosal thought he was right, in many ways: this world was still not what it could be. There was something unknown, unexplained in Thedas that should be corrected. The Blights, the death of the Titans, the lessening of magic, the loss of eternity. These were real sadnesses, real curses that he hinted strongly at understanding. She must try. To make a change to what she knew would be scary, and to deviate from the written path meant she could no longer rely on Ellana’s story but her own will and wisdom.

 

_Let it be enough. Let me be enough._

 

She closed her eyes and offered a wordless prayer to silence: _Please guide me. You who brought my soul here, and spirits who guide me,_ _I beg of you for I no not what I do or how to walk this path. I will give the whole of my life, my soul for a hand in his fate. Is it not why I am here?_ Rosal felt her mana tingle and hum, a buzz from the Fade moving around her. The spirits always crowded around her like a beacon; no thought or prayer sent their way went without notice. Rosal was sure any entity loud enough could achieve the same result: prayers did not go without notice, though they were not noticed in the way most people imagined. Surely if the faithful of Andraste knew their desires and wishes were heard by _demons_ they would relent? Perhaps it was best they did not know; the spirits thrived on this knowledge, these thoughts. They were so lonely. She could relate.

 

When she opened her eyes, she noticed a townswoman holding a baby boring her eyes into the side of her skull. _Oh good, she either is going to harass me or ask for my blessing._

 

The later was correct. After a somewhat awkward conversation, Rosal let her feel carry her up the steps while she was still distracted by the interaction. She could _feel_ Solas’ presence from within the cabin; Rosal was sure he was aware of her’s. Would it be rude to knock? _You’ll need a reason._ Alas, she still had to give thanks.

 

Quelling her anxiety with another prayer and _slightly_ panicked and indecipherable prattle to spirits, she knocked quietly on his cabin door. _What was that? He already can sense you here. Give it a proper knock, not an awkward, half-assed door-tickle._

 

Despite her shortcomings in knocking on the door, his voice immediately rang out, “Yes, it is unlocked, _da’len_.”

 

 _Oh, good. Right into the Wolf’s den then._ The mental image of stone Quinari flashed in her mind as she opened the door as wide eyed as a startled halla. _Reign it in, loser._ She explained, slightly, her surprise, “Oh! You.. knew it was me.”

 

He smiled smugly, “Of course. That particular mana signature can be heard and felt even outside of Haven, _especially_ since you do nothing to mask it.”

 

She still stood in the doorway, choosing to ignore the slight at her lacking skill, “By anyone?”

 

“Ah, come in, you’re letting out the heat.” He looked up from a dusty tome and met her eyes.

 

Rosal blustered and shut the door behind her, “ _Ir abelas, ha’hren._ ”

 

He smiled softly and glanced at the fire, sending it roaring once more. He motioned to a chair adjacent to his own at a small table, “ _Sathan_ , take a seat. And no, I imagine only _well trained_ mages would notice the abnormal pattern presented by the mark. And spirits.”

 

His eye twinkled at the mention of spirits, “What brings you here, _da’len_? Surely the Chosen of Andraste, the blessed hero sent to save us all, has more affluent matters to attend to?”

 

“Ah, like babies to bless? Filled my baby-blessing quota for the day, thanks. A mother is… a very pushy person. And terrifying when you try and reason, then completely _insulting_ when you do not meet her expectations.” She frowned.

 

He let out an honest laugh, “Ah, sounds like an interesting exchange, to say the least.”

 

“A human woman asked an _elf_ to preform a blessing— I am not sure what blessing she expected besides an Elvhen one. Then she spat at me and called me a heathen imposter.”

 

This seemed to tickle him a bit and he grinned, “I would be lying if I said that did not meet my expectations. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary. Now, what may I assist you with, Herald?”

 

 _No soliloquy about heroes?_ She remembered the first real conversation between Ellana and Solas more vividly than her own hair color on earth. _Blonde maybe? Probably._ It was not going quite as she expected; Solas was much more reserved than she anticipated, though the intensity was there, simmering slightly out of reach under the surface. _Does he see me at all yet, or am I still a means?_ Rosal blinked and shyly looked to her hands, then met his eyes again, “I…didn’t need anything from you, Solas. It is you who spent your time helping me and I wanted to thank you. I am once again indebted to your kindness and knowledge for the past three days— ‘ma serannas.”

 

Gratitude is not what Solas expected. _What did he expect?_ It took a long moment to reel in his mind, “ _De da’rahn_ , _da’len._ I would not have helped if I did not want to. Besides, I am quite sure if I’d left you strictly under Aden’s care, you’d be either dead or _addled.”_

 

“Was he… that bad?” She had yet to meet the man, but had heard the name enough times to know she soon would.

 

“If not his incompetence, it would have been one of the many assassination attempts Leliana’s people thwarted that would have taken you out.”

 

“People tried to _kill me?_ Not that I’m surprised they would try. I am surprised they thought they could succeed; there are at least four guards outside my cabin alone. _”_

 

 _“_ There were four guards _inside_ your cabin as well for a great deal of the last three days, in addition to myself and Aden…. and at times, Cassandra. Though she nearly always came to pray.”

 

“That’s a lot of people in my room…” Her voice trailed off fairly. _Wait, didn’t Glynnda say I was in my knickers most of the time? Oh Gods._ Rosal turned a bit rosy in her embarrassment.

 

Solas had spent next to no time attuning himself to her youthful waves of emotion and it was a satisfying game for him to watch her mind wander from one clear feeling to the next. He was sure she did not realize how well she projected her feelings even with the Veil, nor did he feel the need to share the fact with her since it did give him insight and leverage during conversation, and since very few individuals besides himself were equipped to detect such idiosyncrasies. _It must be the influence of the mark. A natural side effect of being twisted with magic so intricately tied to the Veil and the Fade._

 

He found this trace of youth endearing and even attractive, though he would not admit fully to himself how attractive for fear of his own growing lecherousness. It must be old age and isolation catching up to him. A thousand plus years without basking in the true flirtatious energies of the fairer sex had whittled away his propriety and resolve _just a tad_. He’d spent more than an appropriate amount of time selfishly and, yes, physically appreciating (in private, of course) that a woman fell out of the Fade as she lay unconscious and ( _purposefully_ ) scantily clad. A woman who was young, delicate, _Elvhen_ , and more than adequately proportioned in all the parts that were _to his taste_. It dawned on him that as a younger and brasher man, and in another world, he would have held no reserve and made quick work of her, devouring her completely in an attempt to purge and clarify any distracting feelings from himself and write it off as desire. He did not let love interrupt his duty to the People before and certainly did not plan on picking up the habit now that everything teetered precariously on her success. His years alone shifted his thoughts on the matter, blossoming within him a near pious view on his sexuality, one that entwined so sacredly with love the he was sure the behaviors of his younger self would not settle into his current mindset without dissidence.

 

Still, he found her attractive, and could not resist _harmless flirting._ It was harmless, was it not? He _would not_ let it get out of hand. “Worry not, _da’len_ , I did not let them tarnish your maidenhood.”

 

His comment only fueled the glow of her cheeks and the shift of her eyes away from his own. So very satisfying. His ego prodded him to push further, “It was only Cassandra, Glynnda, and I who changed you from your armor. Do not fret. There are no Inquisition solders wandering around with salacious visions of your beautiful, unclothed form betwixt their ears.”

 

Rosal’s heart hammered in her ear. Was he mentioning this for a reason? _He saw you naked. He’s implying he saw and touched your incapacitated naked body._ _And he called it beautiful._ She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. It was not beyond her perception that he was flirting with her in a nearly inappropriate manner for someone _well older_ than herself. But she was not used to such attentions from a man, having spent so little time outside the clan, and such complement padded her own ego. Even with such knowledge, she took the bait, “You’re suggesting me beautiful.”

 

“Not suggesting, stating it as fact. And it would be remiss of me to allow any man to take advantage of such fact. No, my pride would not allow it.” The thought of _human_ men fueling their fantasies of _exotic elven women_ was infuriating on many levels to him; much had changed, but the deplorable treatment of elvhen women (and men for that matter) reminded him how base and depraved they behaved. Less than people— mere animals.The over sexualization of his People was everywhere, but especially Orlais, where maidservants suffered the cruel demands of lords and were used as means of entertainment, their bastard elf-blooded children littering the alienages and countryside. 

 

Rosal smiled shyly despite her best attempts to still her face. “How chivalrous of you— a knight and a mage, all in one. Thank you again for staying, Solas.”

 

“I will stay then, at least until the Breech is closed.”

 

“Was that ever in doubt?” _Great, back on pace._ Rosal regained a shred of her small confidence. The _her_ inside swelled as well.

 

“An apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

 

“You put yourself at risk for everyones sake— I would not let them use that against you.”

 

“How would you stop them?” He looked on her curiously, voice soft and low.

 

Without missing a beat, she met his gaze, “However I had to.”

 

“Thank you,” after a long pause he spoke, “For now we must plan how to garner enough power to close the Breech. Have you spoken to the council?”

 

“We meet again this evening. Cassandra said she would introduce me to Commander Cullen and Ambassador Montilyet.”

 

“I suspect they will bring up two distinct possibilities in preparing for a second attempt to close the Breech. I have given them my honest input on how best to approach the issue, however they themselves postulate what must be done with little evidence to suggest it shall work. Perhaps, as a mage and the bearer of the mark, you can give sway.”

 

“Two distinct possibilities? Ah, because the mark was not powerful enough with just my own magic. Are you suggesting we… add more power?”

 

He smiled curiously at her, “You are quick. Yes, it is what I suggested to them. If we ally the rebel mages, they can channel magic into the mark that you will wield.”

 

 _I suppose I appear clever when I know where this is all heading,_ “And let me guess— they retorted with a plan involving Templars?”

 

He chuckled, “It is rather predictable, no? The tension there is still an open wound looking for closure. The Seeker and the Commander were completely convinced they could be of use, and they might be right, but it is a gamble. At least a larger gamble than the mages.”

 

“I would agree with you, also… there is the _moral_ responsibility as well.” _Playing to his interests much?_ The insight guiding her actions made Rosal feel a bit dirty— manipulative, even. She truly felt sympathy for the mages, and hoped she would make the same decision regardless of her memories.

 

“What do you mean?” Oh, he knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her vocalize it. There was a certain pride in hearing her vocalize such wisdom.

 

“Do you know the story of The Champion, Solas? Have you read Varric’s book?”

 

“Yes, and I have also seen memories of what happened in the Fade surrounding the event entirely, still burning in raw emotion and vivid color as memories so recently rendered present. The death of countless innocent mages, the burning of a Chantry, the fall of an Arishok, and the corruption of the Knight-Commander. And at the helm of change, the Champion of Kirkwall, Marian Hawke.”

 

“Do you not think they deserve a chance, the mages, to make their own choices? Their whole life was decided for them prior. I may be… a bit biased as a mage, but every day I am thankful for my Dalish upbringing that I did not wind up in a Circle. I feel for the Templars lead astray, but they made their weak-willed choice by staying and allowing abuse. They are unbound and can leave that life if they so choose— though it might be a hard path to walk.”

 

“The _Dalish_ did give you _that_ level of freedom, at least.” He _smirked,_ “I must say I am surprised.”

 

 _This Dalish business was going to be a sure sticking point, wasn’t it?_ Rosal herself had countless disagreements with her Keeper, but she did understand their struggle and apprehension for change. A people with no home, clinging to whatever they had to remind them of a supposedly happier time when they owned something greater than an Ara’val. Defensiveness born from constant isolation from each-other, a patchwork of half-truths and misinterpretations to guide them to where? Nowhere in particular, it seemed. Their plan of just waiting for humans’ infighting to clear the way for their home to reinvent itself was unpractical and tragic. Hobbled by lack of leverage and organization, their existence was small and inconsequential to the world’s greater affairs. Yes, Solas was stubborn, and since he was impossibly hard on himself it translated quite well into being hard on others who did not hold themselves to the same standard of progress _as he perceived it should be_. His empathy was hard to win when he could not actively perceive the feelings of the beings on this planet; it was a new language he had yet to learn. He was not at heart cruel. _He’s not that kind of wolf._

 

Rosal veered quietly away from the path she knew, ever so subtly, unable to keep her own tinted lens from interfering, “Surprised? Have my people done something to offend you, _ha’hren_? If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right, if presented the opportunity. Perhaps they should listen to me, as I am one of the People, though I myself was hard-pressed to find support when giving question to certain Dalish practice. What course would you set for them that is better than what they know now?”

 

“You are right, of course. The fault is mine for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish. Do not set upon yourself the impossible task of trying to change a people when they wish not to be changed— you yourself are obviously different than those I have encountered previously, which undoubtedly gives me some sliver of hope for the rest. _Ir abelas, da’len,_ but If I can offer any understanding…you need only ask. Though I am curious…”

 

“About what?”

 

“What is it that you disagree with, _da’len?_ I sense you are full of conflict on the matter.” Sense was an understatement— she was a veritable storm of emotions when she spoke of the Dalish.

 

“It is my own general feeling. I do not have much reason or fact to go on, but I have an acute sense when things are awry. Instinct, perhaps. It is silly…I won’t bore you with the banal minutia of clan drama.”

 

“I assure you, It is no bore. Perhaps this is the reason your clan picked you for such a venture? Or a reason you just now have a vallas’lin? I had thought the Dalish tattooed themselves as quickly as possible— at the first hint of maturity.”

 

 _Did he ever stop hunting? No, but perhaps this is good for him. Perhaps he can know Dalish better and really feel for what has become of the People._ Rosal absentmindedly traced the edge of the branches snaking down her cheek and neck. “Often enough Keeper looked for blind acceptance as maturity. She had to change, as did I. These are a few weeks old, now. But I don’t—”

 

She cut herself off and changed the path of the topic slightly, “Keeper sent myself and Ellana, our best huntress, to the Conclave as spies. The tensions in our region were so great, and the implications of the war affect us more than most neighboring clans cared to admit. Bandits and Templar sympathizers were filtering into the forest when we set off, and we lost contact completely with a nearby clan with whom we often traded. She figured if we at least knew what was happening it would allow us to preemptively flee trouble. It is not like we were there to give our voice— we had none.”

 

Solas listened intently; the vallas’lin seemed a sore topic for her, for whatever reason. It was for him, too, but for his own remorse. The freshness of the lines on her face and body were also painful for him— the scabs pulling forth darker memories he’d buried. Memories where he watched his People’s screaming and protesting as they were marked, before their minds were taken from them and purposes perverted.A time where young woman cried out in pain as they were ripped from their families and thrown into harems. A time where children were held down like cattle as the needle cut into their skin. A time where men of all ages were hunted as beasts by a mad woman’s exacting bow. To appropriate such a practice was a perfect symbol of the Dalish’s foolish self-guided coloring of their history. To once again, in an almost full circle, draw the marks upon the face of an unwilling recipient… an old fire coursed in his blood. That within her was innate dissidence, innate trepidation when knowing her people’s past, was the brightest glimmer of hope he had known yet.

 

He looked lost in thought, but she sensed a great passion as it stormed in his eyes. His eyes did not look at her, but past her. _Through_ her. He was elsewhere. “Ha’hren? Did I say something wrong?”

 

“Ah, forgive me for being impolite. I was lost in my own ruminations. You’ve given me a lot to think about, _da’len._ ”

 

“Truly? I feel I have said so little thus far.”

 

“Quite the contrary. It is not your words but your raw emotion that is most telling.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Thank you for sharing them with me. I look forward to feeling more of you…”

 

 _Feeling more of me? Creators. Innuendo. Well no shit, his game is strong._ She flushed at the rich honey of his voice. She felt it smother her and pool in the pit of her belly, making its presence known to her. Rosal was suddenly very self conscious of her body and sensation— the fabric on her skin, the wetness on her thigh, the hairs standing on the back of her neck. She anxiously babbled, “Perhaps you could tell me more of yourself, too, I mean… if it’s not imposing. I don’t want to pry…”

 

Her _precious_ and demure response did not escape him, and neither did her _physical,_ emotional response, which served to massage his ego more than excite him (though it did _a little_ ). He adjusted his posture, and met her eyes with confidence. “Ah, I will answer what questions you have, but at another time. It grows late, do you not have a meeting to attend at the Chantry?”

 

“Oh! Yes. I must be keeping them. I am so sorry, I did not realize how long we spent… talking.” She floated to her feet, moving soundlessly to the door.

 

“Please visit me again, Herald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas, you sly ~~dog~~ wolf....But seriously, after a thousand plus years you'd probably have a **hard** time around young, vivacious, delectable... ahem. 
> 
> Sigh. Soon Rosal will be in a field of unrecognizable social circumstance and the canon conversations will be of little relevance to her awkward fumbling. Rosal, don't veer too much, my child... 
> 
> Next up: spirit friends and Hinterlands. Trying to get to Redcliffe within a few chapters here. The future is going to fuck with any sense of emotional homeostasis she possesses. #Sadquisition


	6. Pride & Prejudice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosal considers her heart, her personhood, and her ability.

There was precious little time left before they departed for the Hinterlands to speak with Mother Giselle. Nearly two weeks passed since that fateful morning she awoke in her cabin, mind hazy and body still strained from her failed attempt to close the Breech. Two weeks of grueling training that left her feeling even more inadequate and underprepared than if she’d wandered blindly into the countryside. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas would have a lot to make up for with as many blindspots she possessed. Leliana’s agents had taken turns sparring with her, as well as some of Cullen’s new recruits, and, _horrifyingly_ enough, Solas as well. Each had particular feedback for her— her guard was too open, her staff work was sloppy, and she was, most of all, not aggressive enough in combat situations.

Rosal cowered instinctually in violent scenarios, a trait that Agent Bartholomew (just ‘Barty’ to her now) had admonished her for and insisted she spar with him until it descended, “It will get you killed quickly. You cannot have your first instinct be submit.”

Solas was kinder, insisting there would be more than just fighting and that she could utilize her talents for healing and more peaceable activities— but yes she must be able to fight. Solas saw the fear in her eyes. He was also the most ruthlessly critical of trainers, holding nothing back and usually sweeping her to her ass with force and grace within the first few minutes of any sparring session. Not only was he exceptionally skilled in fighting, he looked damned well doing it. This did not help her _infatuation_. She tried endlessly to ignore the innate reaction her body produced, and its consequences: blushing, tripping without poise over her words (and feet), making stupid mistakes while distracted. The last earned her sharp reproach and embarrassingly _tactile_ demonstrations. The man had no qualms about entering her personal space as it suited him; he would often approach her from behind and correct her staff grip or form, or physically reposition her during sparing to show how to best defend and make use of her staff blade during melee. The affects on her subconscious and in Dreaming were near violent, volatile— mornings she would wake up nearly out of breath from the dreams she could barely recall, but did feel the affects of physically. _You are the only one thinking this way, Rosal. Get your mind out of the gully._

 

Still, when his knuckles graced her side, or strong hand gripped at the crux of her thigh, and the moment his woody scent and heavy breath filled her senses, her youth raged within her. She was most certainly just over the threshold of young womanhood; fuck her age, fuck her desires. She tried desperately to fight her heart and the _heat_. She did not want this, again. She did not appreciate unrequited love and lust the last go around, and it certainly was no less desperate this time. She had enough of love, enough despair and remorse from one life time to know that _love was common_ and _nearly always ended poorly_. If it were a bet, she would not take it. But she was weak. How embarrassing. Worse, _how public_. If he couldn’t read her body language (he could), he could certainly smell it (he relished it) as much as he could detect the accompanying sadness (he was also very aware of this).

Solas would not embarrass her by vocalizing her discomforts; he was a kinder man who must think a girl’s infatuation flattering and precious _._ Rosal could not help but imagine what he thought when he softly smiled at her blustering grace and doe-eyed stares. Stares that surely came from nowhere mature romance would; infatuation with what amounted to a celebrity in her other set of memory.

_No, not famous. Infamous. Tell yourself he is a monster. Tell yourself he will eat you alive._

It did not help he played _ever so softly_ the game with her, and went out of his way to bring her books and scrolls to her cabin that might interest her or teach her theory to improve her performance. He would touch her shoulder when saying goodbye, tell her stories of the Fade, and playfully correct her Elvhen. She searched endlessly for a word to describe his air and settled on _doting_. He _doted_ on her, spoiled her _,_ as a father would a child. A sad, immature child who needed guidance. A child woefully unprepared, constantly less than, who balked at the first fistful of fire aimed in her direction.

_Stop with your sweetness, my heart._

But he treated her the differently than Ellana and Keeper had—a paper heart in a raging fire— and for the first time Rosal let herself feel empowered. Solas was trying to build her confidence, her ego. _My prideless self_. Still, her ebbing infatuation often overshadowed the confidence she gained from their lessons. Little chips of it fell off with every utterance of _da’len_ and every doting notion. She didn’t want to be a child to him.

_Please be that six-eyed beast of legends, not this gentle wolf licking my wounds._

No. Such actions fueled her fantasies, and kept her hands busy at night, bringing her to a mute guilt during the day. He was playing the game and Rosal was woman enough to know. Physically, she was confident she was desirable to him. She was woman enough to know where his eyes raked her. She was woman enough to know that men overlooked many aspects of compatibility and maturity for physicality and femininity _._ Was the real Solas such a man, was she a _port in a storm_? She did not believe him simple.

_I am trying not to love you. Yet dream every night of being torn asunder._

 

 

Dawn brought their departure. Rosal woke to the sound of rapt knuckles on her door, then the hustle of Glynnda gathering her things as Rosal shrugged out of bed. “I’ve put breakfast on the table, m’lady, and will ready your mount with your possessions then be back to assist you with the armor.”

Rosal was not a morning person.

Pulling her feet out of bed, she felt as heavy as cement. Her dreams were as heavy as her days. Last night had provided little relief from the anxiety of their upcoming trip; she listlessly tossed and turned in and out of sleep all night. Thank the Creators today was mostly riding, though she didn’t much care for that either. _Well, what do you care for?_

Nearly an hour later, she was mounted atop a gentle mare. Cassandra had insisted Rosal be fit to the most mild-mannered mount, considering how new she was to horses. Dalish didn’t ride horses, they had halla and harts. The saddles with confusing leather straps and other oddities that seemed unnecessary were new to her as well. The Dalish had their own stripped-down version of a saddle, but most people rode bareback unless riding tandum. The soft, well-worn Fereldan saddle felt odd between her legs. Riding an animal shouldn’t be so… comfortable. _Soothing,_ even. The rhythmic feel of the horse’s jaunt reverberating between her legs was pleasant; Rosal’s ear’s were a lovely shade of pink because of it. Most Dalish leaned into the animal, grabbing it around the neck while raising their bottom off the mount and gripping with their thighs around the halla’s side; human-style riding posture was comparatively upright with constant, direct contact to the horse unless running the horse. Halla were also less cumbersome to mount and simpler to straddle than a horse, so, being closer in size, it was easier for the rider to dictate their will to the animal with their body alone. Most hallas were only ridden by one or two elves their entire life, so mutual understanding developed between the rider and the mount that quickly replaced any manual controls on which humans relied.

The Dalish’s relationship with animals and closeness to nature was one of their finer qualities, and Rosal admired what additional depth it brought. Here it was separate— lonely. She missed the halla, the cats, the dogs, and the chickens. She missed the wolves at the river she did her washing the past few summers, passive and calm about her presence. Those ice blue eyes that outstared her. They curiously watched from the shadowily glen as she laundered her clothes, like children watching adults or adults watching children. She could never tell which. 

“You in there, Rosie?” Varric’s voice snapped her back from her thoughts. Someday he’d meet a less jaded elf. Perhaps. Rosal grew progressively more quiet as the morning progressed, then completely dropped out of their banter entirely.

Her eyes met Varric’s passively, and she attempted to mute her tone. She didn’t mean to sound offensive, or defensive—anything really— she just didn’t want to talk and she was tired of Varric and Cassandra’s bickering and endless prattle. “Did you need something?”

Varric’s lip twitched. Apparently she had failed in her attempt to sound unemotional, _“_ Uh, no…just curious if you heard Cassandra ask if you’d like to stop for a rest and eat lunch.”

“Oh, my apologizes… I would like that.” She smiled a sadder smile than she anticipated, as well. Things never came off the way she intended. Rosal let her feelings grow the guilt inside her; she admonished herself for dampening their mood further.

 

Solas was the first to dismount and tether his horse to a tree off the road; they were still a good six days away from the Hinterlands so their packs were heavy with rations and supplies and his horse,a temperamental grey, did not appreciate all the extra weight and was quick to slow. They planned to gather what they could along the way and hunting at least once during the trip. He eyed Rosal as she unhooked her own pack and then gathered a small bag of toiletries from the front pocket and then walked towards the forest. Solas approached her with his own small bag in hand, and spoke as softly as he could, sensing her on edge, “Ah, are you heading to the stream? I will go with you.”

She had hoped to go alone, but expected at least one of them to offer. Solas was no bother, so she did not mind and cracked him a genuine smile. “Alright, but no peeking.”

He followed her, feet snapping twigs underfoot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before, _da’len._ ”

Rosal flushed, “I just wanted to wash my face and hands, _ha’hren._ It’s a little soon for a bath.”

“How is your horse treating you?” He veered the conversation to more neutral territory.

“Fine, though I keep finding myself half asleep and in danger of falling off my saddle.” They had reached the stream. Rosal took her top layer of armor off, leaving on her undershirt. Rolling up the sleeves of the shirt, she knelt beside the stream.“It seems sleeping in saddle is a skill you’ve mastered, Solas.”

He chuckled, “Sleep is a state of mind. You can access the Fade anywhere if you have the resolve to learn the subtle manipulations of your conscious and subconscious mind.”

“And that’s great, but I’m more impressed with your mastery of horse riding— before this week I’d only ever ridden halla or harts. Did you ride a lot of horses where you’re from? A small village, you said.” She couldn’t help but needle him a bit, already knowing the discomfort it would cause.

“From time to time, yes.” He maintained a certain calmness, but his displeasure on the turn in conversation flickered momentarily. He added, “When they were available.”

_Which was probably always?_ Rosal smiled and rinsed the soap from her face, “It sounds enviable, in a way.”

He was washing his own face now, “Enviable?”

“ _Staying put._ You know, an actual home? Traveling is nice, surely, but it’s nothing more than a distraction. I never understood why we Dalish did not just… pick a place and congrigate. So what if humans come and try to kick us off? At least we would be together for a time. I know the Keepers argue their way of living is best— if you’re nomadic it is easy to have _freedom_ they say, easy to _survive_. But isn’t it just the imitation of freedom? They still live their lives with another’s will permanently marring their own. We already bend to human will in limiting our magic. What point is survival if you’re constantly looking to your back, trying to keep hush so that no one takes what little you have left.”

“Hope. If the Dalish have any admirable quality in great quantity, I would say it is that, though if they keep with their current trajectory it is baseless.”

_My, my, is that?_ Yes, the first _tepid_ thing he’d said about Dalish. Perhaps the only positive thought he’d had about them yet— and even so it held a certain bite, _‘If the Dalish have any_ ’ was a tad sideways.“I would agree to that. I do hope they can change.”

“Change is not so simple, _da’len_ , and it will not come from nothing. Change comes from catalyst; often a great boon or great tragedy. Or a leader with the will to lead, which often brings both.”

“Yes, but they _are_ capable of doing such.”

“Of that I am not so sure.”

_Oh, here we go._ “What experience with the Dalish has you so upset, _ha’hren?_ That you should discredit any possibility of their progress? That makes _you_ the authority on their successes and failures?”

“I have had many dealings with them in my travels, and seen many memories of them in the Fade, thus—”

Rosal could not even wait for him to finish. His claims, his attitude, and his air of superiority when speaking on the matter was nagging at a chip on her shoulder. She was going to ask for his help refashioning her armor, but that could wait till she was back at camp. “This makes you the authority? The best judge of their potential? Do you see how baseless your claims seem, to one who has lived as such? Looking from the outside and judging our potential, our lives, and our goals… you have already made at least four grievous errors of logic, offenses even to my personhood.”

“And those are?” She did not miss the venom in his voice.

“One: you have labeled us— the Dalish— as weak and asserted our strengths and weaknesses _for us_. Two: you have presumed our identities based on what little you have gleaned of them. Since you saw ignorance and poverty, lack of curiosity and fear, you assume this then applies to the whole. Prejudice, in other words. You have set me, a _Dalish_ _woman,_ apart and moralized me so that I do not interfere with this carefully constructed narrative, as though I have _willed myself_ or was somehow made myself special, somehow different enough that I do not speak for them in anyway. And finally,on that note, you have erased any differences or discontinuities with your narrative, robbing my identity of its basis as a political, social, and ethnic Dalish citizen. You question my peers’ personhood, while indulging yourself in _granting_ me mine— like you have the right!” She took a deep breath, noting Solas’ stunned, slack-jawed response of utter shock.

“I am not some curious, strong example of personhood like you wish me to be, Solas. I, too, am inherently flawed. My weaknesses are many and they are my own, _not_ signifiers of my race or origin. If I break, if I am ignorant, if I am poor and elf, it is because that is who I am, and not indicative of any other individual’s weaknesses funneled into mine. I am the self that made me. I decide _to be,_ or _not be_. I do not aggregate a specific kind of personhood or experiences or lives wrapped up in mine, Solas. Neither do you. I _am_ the experience happening right now! Right here, with you!”She was met with silence— a passive acceptance? No, he was deeply entrenched in his own reaction to speak.

Rosal thundered back to the caravan of horses, finding her other companions already roasting meat on a small, hastily constructed fire. Cassandra immediately sensed the discordance in her behavior, and stern look, “Herald, are you well?”

“I am fine, Cassandra. Can you help me with my armor?” She sat on a convenient rock and waited for Cassandra to start reattaching the back plates.

When Solas reentered the camp he sat and ate silently, his own expression unreadable beyond ‘contemplative.’ Varric opened his mouth to comment on the obvious tension, but choose silence for the remains.Right now it was easy to distance herself emotionally from him. To withhold kissing his claws. Perhaps, tonight at lest, she would dream peacefully.

 

 

 

The remainder of the trip to the Hinterlands passed without incident. Solas was inside himself, distant, for the course of the week. Had she made it worse? For when he looked to her, as he often would when she was turned aside from him, she felt his eyes boring into her. When she caught his eyes by chance he looked at her with a soft guilt and a broken, silent apology.

If he wanted to apologize, he was free to do so. Though Rosal doubted whether or not his pride would allow for such a thing; she would have to apologize first. What was the wisdom, if you want an apology, be the first to apologize? They were less than a day from the forward camp, and Rosal was sick of the palpable tension each time she communicated with him out of necessity.

As they broke camp that morning, she approached him. Cassandra and Varric were both busy dismantling the tents while Solas trekked with a bucket to look for water to quench the fire with. “Solas.”

He nearly jumped at his name, serene and passive tone sliding effortlessly from his lips, “How may I assist you?”

“I wanted to apologize, Solas. I made you uncomfortable. You are entitled to your opinions and I jumped down your throat and misdirected feelings at you. I do value your company and wisdom, thus… perhaps we can put such disagreements behind us.” She smiled shyly. The taken aback expression on his face confirmed to her the apology was both correct and unexpected. It was not a lie, either. The evenings had been slow to pass without the intelligent conversation Solas provided, or thoughtful input into her magic practice after meals.

“No, it is my fault for causing discomfort to begin with and speaking flippantly. Your words do have merit, and my silence is not due to offense, _da’len._ I am considering what you said and finding difficulty in your words; I cannot discredit or dismiss you, but find my own world view hard to dismiss as well. Such internal conflict is… disquieting, as you can imagine. Truly, I am sorry to cause you stress. I am also full of many faults, so please forgive me.”

“Of course.” She eyed the stream, “Appropriate venue.”

“Hmm?” He caught her gaze and followed it to the stream, filling the bucket, “Ah, seems it is certainly complementary to our last private conversation.”

 

Back at the camp, the change in mood was immediate.

Varric approached Rosal as she adjusted her saddle, mumbling quietly, “Glad you two worked out whatever weird, broody elf shit was _disrupting your prissy elf auras._ ”

“Ah, sorry to spill our brood all over everything. Elf business, you know, we’re born already old and cranky then it just gets worse with time.”

“You going to be OK once we get to the Crossroads, Rosie? Last missive before we left said it was turning pretty bloody…even the townsfolk have no where left to go.”

She paled at the thought she’d so carefully concealed in the back of her mind. The tension with Solas had provided a welcomed distraction to the problem, “I… should be fine.”

“That didn’t sound so confident…You nearly passed out when I cut the throats on those nugs yesterday.”

“They’re just so… _cute_.”

Varric’s voice grew louder, “You know, the Templars and mages are going to be pretty _cute_ too… War isn’t easy, kid, and the people attacking you won’t always feel or look as horrendous as demons. They won’t always attack you first, either; sometimes you have to preemptively strike someone down. They are people. They look like people, they act like people, and they die like people.”

“What if we asked them, talked to—Do you think any of them will see reason…” She knew the answer already, but hoped.

“No.”Cassandra cut in, mounting her horse in one swift motion. “Those we will meet there are mad— they’d rather die than work peaceably. _That_ much is apparent to me now. We should be there well before evening— only a few more hours. If you are going to freeze there is no need for you to leave the forward camp.”

“No, I should go I—“

“And what happens if you die? There is no room for error like in Haven. Be aware of your own skill and self or we will all suffer.”

“Hate to say this, but she is right, Rosie. Unless you have some sort of revelation in the next few hours….”

Did no one think she could manage? Rosal burned with embarrassment. She was thankful her hood covered the sides of her face, and that her horse was carrying her at a relative distance.This disparity between who she wished to be, and who she was, constantly outplayed her. Always one step behind.“I would still like to try.”

“ _Da’len._ ” Solas sounded infinitely kinder next to Cassandra’s harsh tone and words, “Not everyone is a warrior. There are more ways to aid than with combat; your healing skills alone have grown immensely in the past three weeks.”

His horse drew closer. Elvhen spilled from his lips, “ _Your gentle nature is no weakness, da’len._ ”

And what he meant was _stay as you are, you are enough._

The blood rushed loudly in her ears; Rosal’s quieted heart once more flooded her senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my autocorrect would stop changing Dalish to Danish, _I would be so happy._
> 
> I am in the middle of moving to another state and getting married (and merging pets), so this month and next will be spotty. I have another chapter of my other work I have to finish, and then back to this one. Weee~


	7. A White Lace Garter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW. 
> 
> Rosal's inexperience causes inconvenience and leads to a rejuvenating trip to the Fade which leads to a different set of problems and gives Solas an unexpected clue.

Their plan to keep Rosal safe and well padded with scouts while traveling the Crossroads was a good one.

It _would_ have been a good plan, if the situation upon their arrival wasn’t so… tumultuous. Unexpected, even. The fighting from the Crossroads had spilt up the mountainside and nearly into the forward camp; every hand had weapons drawn and general exhaustion was writ on the faces that greeted them.

“Herald of Andraste…. oh, boy are we glad to see backup. It’s odd for a Dalish elf to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no back talk here. Sorry we can’t really chat— if you four could help us clear out the path to the Crossroads I can fill you in about the area.”

 “It’s that bad?” A fireball flew by Rosal’s side; the smell of burnt hair filled her nostrils, “Oh.”

Solas immediately threw a barrier, then pulled Rosal behind him, “Stay close to me and stay out of range. Keep barriers cast constantly.”

Her hands moved of their own accord from instinct. Soon, she found herself frozen, merely watching. She tried to remember how it felt to watch _before. Comical violence_. She tried to remember what her memory held of battle in this world, tried to quell her anxiety with knowledge every night to prepare herself for the eventuality of war. It turns out stories and games of battles, even graphic images, could not capture the reality of watching the life pass from a man’s eyes. _Where did it go?_ Rosal was uncomfortable with how well every other person was handling the visuality of violence. She was uncomfortable with how well Solas _knew_ how she’d react; how his instinct to shield and protect her was appropriate. She froze.

The bodies of crazed mages dropped quickly, softly, with a sound like wetted hay falling off the back of a wagon. Their staves clattered like axles against wheels, wheels against stone. Blood red, blood red and burning and blooming at the end of a meadow like embrium. Embrium in their eyes, brightly burning, turning. Bodies carefully caging souls. The door opens, the bird flies. _Where did it go?_

Not just mages now. Templars are heavy and old, despite their youth. They reach back and empty their lungs, their blood, _at and around_ her and all feels empty. It’s not air she can’t breath, it’s something else she needs to inhale that she cannot.

  
There is nothing to reach for in a vacuum but abstractions.  


“ _Rosal_ … _Rosal_ …breathe through it, you are safe. They are gone for now, _da’len._ ” A warm hand rubs her back reassuringly, and pulls her close to his chest, close to what’s _real_. When did she fall to the ground?

Unable to speak, her eyes worriedly searched his, asking silently _what happened?_

“You were smited,” Solas’ guilt was apparent. He took it as a personal failure, and insult to his pride, “I do not imagine you’ve experienced such a thing prior.”

Rosal shook her head, eyes wide and unfocused. If someone wanted to kill her right now, it would be very easy. _Even before the smite, it was very easy, wasn’t it?_

Solders and scouts were clearing the fallen mages and Templars quickly, but the blood still remained. Most of the bloody corpses were farther away from Solas and her, where only charred corpses lay. Death by magic looked cleaner, at least, after the body left: only scorch marks remained.

“Cassandra is fetching lyrium. Have you any experience with lyrium droughts? It is my understanding the Dalish do not regularly make use of it.” Solas looked to her eyes for an answer, finding it in her anxiety, “Ah, well, I will give you a small vial first since it can be overwhelming. It is not quite like pulling magic from the Fade but it _will_ provide relief.”

“Solas, I do not use lyrium so I am not sure what concentration theses are but this is everything the camp has.” Cassandra had returned with a carefully padded, layered chest of vials. She knelt near them, her face soft and mothering.

Solas held several to the light, eyeing their density before uncorking and smelling one, “This will suffice, it is the thinnest.”

Holding the back of her head, he pushed the vial to her parted, dry lips and slid the lyrium carefully down her throat. Rosal felt a burn as it fell, heavily, to her stomach. A warmth spread and she groaned, breaking her silence.

“You can have more if you’d like, it was the bare minimum.”She heard him clinking through more vials with one hand, the other warm pinning her firmly to his chest.

“Mmm,” Rosal shifted against him, thin little hands still gripping at his outer cloak, quiet voice barely a whisper, “ _Vin._ ”

She could hear his soft smile, “ _Ma’ nuvenan._ ”

 

 

It was a dusk before she woke. Somewhere between the second drought and Varric sitting next to them to tell some outlandish tale, she’d fallen into a dreamless sleep. No longer was she gathered in Solas’ arms, but wrapped snuggly in warm blankets on a cot in a quiet tent, alone. She felt marginally better, but as soon as she reached for her magic felt panic: she’d never felt this depleted before. Keeper had always praised her for how deep her reserve ran, and would tell her it was a miraculous gift, a blessing from the Creators she possessed such a deep magic and strong connection to the Fade. _Useless, however, in your incompetent hands._ No, now was not the time for her ridiculous feelings of inadequacy. She had duty. Lurching her feet over the edge of the cot, she managed to pull herself up.

“Oh, hey! Lady Herald, are you feeling any better?” Scout Harding ushered her to sit around the camp fire, handing her a bowl of stew. The sun was past setting and her stomach quickly reminded her it’d been half a day since she’d eaten.

“I can move now, so that’s an improvement. Where are… Solas, Cassandra, and Varric? And half the camp…” Turning her head, she noticed many scouts also missing. 

“They went to clear the rest of the combatants from the Crossroads, along with a few scouts. No worries, they are coming back tonight. Tomorrow I imagine you will approach Mother Giselle. I’ve already briefed them on the area but I’ll fill you in on the details.”

 “Do I spend all my time sleeping, I wonder, or just the _really important bits._ ” Rosal groaned, “I suppose it’s better like this with me here… resting, and they out there… warring.” 

“You shouldn’t have such impossible expectations for yourself, your worship. When have you ever seen war? I myself felt the same way the first time, but… then again I was a lot younger than you. Freezing up is natural, and you will need to get over it if you’re going to be in the field. That will come with practice. Was this your first—er— skirmish?”

“With _people_ , yes. I have fought a bear before, but that’s another story. My clan encountered bandits before when I was young but I was hidden away quickly before anything got bloody… What I don’t understand is we obviously outnumbered them—It’s like they rushed in here expecting the end. Why, though…?” She trailed off into thought and a pause hovered in the conversation.

“Yeah?” Harding smiled softly at her, “You’re a softie, aren’t you, Lady Herald?” 

She sighed heavily, “Don’t call me that, please. It’s just Rosal.”

Harding’s cheeks tinted, “It might take getting used to, calling you that.”

“Yet you had no issues accepting to ‘ _your worship’ ?_ That, I find the harder one to accommodate.”

Harding took a long swig from her flagon, “Huh. I mean, yeah, now that you mention it.”

“It’s unnerving how quickly people throw their weight behind someone, knowing so very little about them and what they do know based on hearsay. No one wants to lead, no one wants responsibility, they all want it to be miraculously untangled for them by one divine _hand_. I am not sure I can be a _divine prophet_. It is a lot of expectation.”Her food was getting cold. Rosal wasn’t particularly in the mood to eat, her stomach still temperamental and heavy, and lazily pushed a chunk of meat around the bottom of her bowl.

“I can’t begin to imagine how you feel, Herald, but aren’t you describing faith? I would also like to believe, you know, that what we saw…was _real_.”

“Faith is amazing when applied to love, or on it’s own, but what place does it have behind a mortal woman? Why, suddenly, the Herald of Andraste? I am not saying I do not want to help this Inquisition in its effort— quite the opposite. It is just that I wish to do the right thing, and be given a chance to win that faith fairly. I do not want to assume such a mantel without my own merit. So please, call me _Rosal_ , as it is my name and I have yet to earn another.”

“What other people believe does not matter then, does it? Why be bothered, why be bitter and take it from them? We can still believe what we want— hell, you aren’t even Andrastian, are you? If you really want to help you just need to play your role, and we will play ours.” She stood and walked back to a table butting against a tent, setting down her dish before turning back to face Rosal.

“It’s good you question things, Rosal. No one is asking you to believe in your own divinity but it does harm to the Inquisition efforts if you deny it so readily. There is no way not to know, is there? No one, not even you, knows what happened in the Fade. Or why any of this—” Scout Harding waved her arms around wildly, the remaining contents of her bowl slopping over the edge, “—Is happening.”

 

The stars were out by the time Cassandra, Solas, and Varric drug their tired, aching bodies into the camp. The scouts had arrived a short time earlier, but Cassandra had insisted they touch base with Corporal Vale and take note of any additional tasks they could assist with while traveling to Horsemaster Dennet’s over the next day or so. Questions about where the Lady Herald was during this murmured quietly around the Crossroads, and news of her _‘falling ill’_ spread like wildfire. An air of sympathy and concern sparked many to offer prayer and would hang heavy through the next day. 

Shortly after his arrival, Solas quickly slipped into Rosal’s tent, where she had started to doze lightly, “Hnn… _Solas_?”

“Ah, _ir abelas, da’len,_ I have awoken you. We returned from reclaiming the Crossroads not too long ago. There is still much yet left to accomplish tomorrow, however, to secure the area and to acquire supplies for the refugees. Have you eaten? How do you feel?”He gently knelt beside her, using a small pulse of mana to scan over her body, prodding and pulling at her slowly replenishing magic. 

Rosal inhaled sharply. Solas’ intensity was dizzying at times, “Ah, oh I ate with Scout Harding earlier… I am better than I was but I still feel… drained. And the lyrium wore off and I feel sharper, and sleepier. I crashed after I ate.”

“I can see that. Will you allow me to assist you?” He urged her to lay back again on her cot.

 She turned her head shyly, “What did you have in mind?”

 "More so than lyrium, _da’len,_ willfully entering the Fade will allow you to expedite the process of recovering your mana. Think of your magic as a small pool connected to a tributary of a great river, and the Fade is that great river. If you widen the stream, the pool will flood. Entering with _intent_ into the Fade widens the vein. Such a technique will ensure you feel fully recovered come morning and also allow for other learning opportunities should they present themselves. With practice, this can even be applied when you are awake and during times of high mana use. That is to say, after you have mastered the more _finite_ skills in manipulating the Fade you can pull it at will during waking. I will join you tonight to ensure your safety, so do not fret.” He hovered his hand over her forehead in anticipation of her consent.

 “Oh! _Oh._ I don’t think I’ve ever tried to enter the Fade, I just sort of end up there by chance from time to time. Ok, let’s try it then— umm, what do I do…” She shifted nervously, aware of Solas’ magic trickling slowly around her, each tendril cozying up to her and warming her like a blanket. She didn’t want to mention she entered the Fade most commonly when _called_ by spirits. Solas was a curios man; he would wonder about her intimate connection with her spirit friends. She was not anxious they would reveal anything to him— Curiosity was the only one who’d bother her when she was

He smiled warmly, the blue glow of his magic illuminating the dimming tent, “Just relax, _da’len_ , I will guide you. Your dream might be considerably more lucid than by normal, and you might experience shifts in the landscape depending on your will— do not be alarmed— _I have you_.”

 

Rosal felt a sudden heavy pull towards sleep, her eyelids drooping and a ripple of pleasure eliciting a soft moan from her as the last of her waking senses fell to rest. A soft caress of magic traveling the plain of her body relit her awareness, and a confusing swelling expanded in her center. She thought to open her eyes but a small voice of her own whispered _not yet_ and in her growing consciousness she let the feeling grow and spread. She could feel her toes tingle and wiggled them softly against a cool and flowing torrent of water. Soft, dewy grass pressed into her arm, or what she presumed was her arm. The solid ground below her felt less ethereal than her own appendages, which pulsed and vibrated with magic as she willed the smoke of the Fade into the shape of herself.

Soft, loose cloth tangled with her legs— a dress of some sorts? The bodice was tight and low around her chest, her full bust pushed tight to her ribs and upward. Delicate lace trimmed the low cut, sweetheart neckline. Eyes still shut, she ran her hands gently from the silky skirt, dipped into the crux of her thighs, past her cinched waist, to the bust. Her body was intensely sensitive— even slight touches had her fighting back moans, her hands quickly rushing past her excited breasts and landing on her neck. Jewelry? Pearls, a tight double strand. Licking her lips, she tasted a faint flavor— a lip rouge, glossy, sticky and sweet. Rosal’s hair was pinned into tight plaits, with a few carefully chosen strands framing loose around her face. Matching pearl studs pierced her ears— which suddenly felt sore— when had she had such decoration? Rosal carefully turned the studs between her thumb and forefinger in thought, yelping when very _real_ pain accompanied the action. Quickly, she soothed herself by massaging the rim of her ears, the sensitive flesh providing an illicit distraction from the pain, waves of pleasure flooding the ether.

A sharp intake of air— from lips that weren’t her own— pulled her fully into the scene. Her lacy eyelashes flitted open, and the scene unfolded fully before her. She was in an expansive garden, with her toes dangling into an ornamental pond, and back pushing against soft, mossy grass as she peered up at an odd sky of stars. The dress was mostly white, save for blush pink laces and details. Voices from a party— far away enough she could not make out their words— carried and echoed off of stone walls. Under a small wooden structure stood Solas, eyes dark and heavy, transfixed on her sprawled form. His expression was nearly unreadable, save for curiosity, but flashed with a momentary look of _desire._  

He could probably _feel_ her here, in the Fade, and _feel_ her self-inflicted joy. A steady blush covered her cheeks and décolleté. She called to him curiously, “Solas?” 

Where was this? Was this her dream? _This must be from before, if so…_

“Ah,” he stepped from the shadows, crickets joining in the conversation, “Interesting place. Do you know where we are? I am not quite sure.”

Rosal sat and took in his attire— the same as waking? She was the only one dressed for the dream. “I am a bit unsure myself, but I think I have dreamt this before? It seems familiar in a way, but not in a direct way? If you get my meaning.” 

Solas pulled her to her feet, then closer to him, eyes raking over her appearance unabashed, “Yes, I can see this must come from you somehow, or inspired by something you’ve witnesses be it in dreaming or waking. Such detail, however, is unusual if not from vivid personal memories.”

“Oh. Well, obviously a _Dalish_ elf doesn’t flit around strange gardens wearing impractical dresses smelling of… I am not quite sure what this fragrance is.” She brought her wrist to her nose, “Something floral? No flower I know. No matter.”

“No,” He walked completely around her, studying her closely, brows knit, “She would not. Though it… suits you, as in, you seem at ease.”

 “So it’s not mine then, but it is nice, is isn’t it? Why not enjoy it.” Rosal smiled and started up a stony path flanked with white lilies. 

He followed her, steps silent behind her, “No, _it is from you,_ though it might not be _yours_. The other option would be…no, not possible.”

“What is not possible, _ha’hren_?” She paused, allowing him to catch up with her swift, excited steps.

“You would have to have finite control over the Fade to construct such a scene, but it is not a skill you _yet_ posses. Of that I am absolutely certain. At any rate, this memory has tied itself quite intimately to you and yes,” he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing the back and meeting her eyes with ferocity, “We _should_ enjoy it.”

_Smooth. As. Hell._

Rosal momentarily wondered if she were to spend the entirety of this dream flustered. She smirked and slipped her hand away and let her feet carry her swiftly where they somehow knew to go— hedges appeared and divided the path. Flicking her eyes back to Solas with a challenge, she dove into what she knew was a maze. Of course, despite her innate knowledge of the place she expected him to do well in catching her.

_He is the Dread Wolf, is he not? This should be child’s play if the legends are correct._

Left, right, straight at the fork, turn around immediately to see a less obvious path, then right, right, right, left. The path opened into a small gazebo furnished with a raised, padded bed and pillows. The ceiling of the gazebo was glass, allowing for an unobstructed view of the stars. Stars that seemed familiar yet new to her eyes, and a separate pattern than the eyes knew from her dirty elven childhood spent running nights through open fields.

 

Moments later— before she could even dive into the plush cushions, Solas appeared behind her, chuckling softly. “Too easy, _da’len_.”

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d be so fast…” She frowned playfully, flopping onto the platform and rolling onto her back to look at the stars 

“You are easy to find— the mark is an unmissable beacon in the Fade.” He sat next to her, leaning against a beam.

“Is it so precise that you can follow it through a maze?”

 He grinned, “I can simply Fade step to you if I wish, though, I did choose to follow you through the maze… for entertainment value. Also you leave a trail.”

She laughed, “Of what?”

“That intriguing flower perfume.” His eyes flashed playfully, bending in and inhaling deeply.

 “Well, good job detective.” Rosal’s eyes fell to the sky, "You've got some keen senses."

 “Good job finding this repose. It appears you know this dream well, _da’len._ Better than you seem to realize yourself.” He paced around the small, tucked away garden, studying the careful details in the flowers and ornamentation. Even a small fountain was intricately and uniquely designed.

 “The stars are different.” She evaded his unspoken questions, mouth slightly agape in awe.

 Solas was again watching her very closely, “I noticed earlier— curious is it not? Yet another trick of the Fade, perhaps.”

 He conjured a flower and floated it gently to sit on the tip of her nose, obscuring her view of the stars. She chortled, picking it off her face, “I’d almost forgot we can do magic here!”

 “A peculiar thing to forget, since it is the reason we are here entirely. _Your_ magic.” He conjured orbs of floating lights to light the garden more subtly, so that he could see her face more clearly.

Rosal grinned and flicked her wrist— frost clung to his eyelashes and a small dusting of snow piled onto his head, which he laughed and dusted off. Rosal had not felt this playful in a long while; it was hard for her to not be relaxed in such a dream, “What I meant was— its all magic, there’s no _doing, no casting._ It just…is.”

 Such an observation cast a sad shadow on his face, “Yes. Such a state was once how one could describe the entirety of the world, _da’len._ My journeys tell of such a time, before the Veil, where magic was not merely cast— it was as natural as breathing. You could believe anything into being if you had willpower enough. The Fade was a state of nature, not merely a place you went whilst you dreamt.”

She smiled as a rain of flower petals fell upon her with a glance of Solas’ eyes, their blush color the same as the ribbon on her dress. “I’d like to see that, I think: a waking world this magical.”

“I would like that as well,” he paused, gaze soft and sad, “For you to see it.”

Rosal was feeling hopefully, even without Hope. Belief, even without Faith. Free, _strong_ , and brave. Where did these feelings grow from? _They were always here._ Her weaker self back on the shelf, a spike of energy filled her will to the brim. What he had reminded her:  _I am enough._ “I will then!”

"Oh?” He laughed, then asked incredulously, “What will you do? What miracle will you preform to undo the past?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll do it!” She bit her lip cutely, batting her eye lashes at him with newly formed confidence, “If you have any ideas…”

_You’re playing with fire, sugar. Flirting with a beast._

Flashing a wolfish grin, he leaned over her confidently, eyes breathing her girlishness in once more, hand to the left of her head supporting his weight, “Many.”

Mentally, Rosal took a step back and assessed her current physical _— or metaphysical? Did the Fade count as physical_? — position: she was laying in a memory looking at some other world’s stars, on a silken bed, wearing alluringly feminine attire. _Tits nearly out. Ellana would be proud._ An attractive man— _Solas_ to her now, but _someone else later_ (and before)— was caging her body with his, his eyes making a show of devouring this vision of her.  He very clearly wanted her to _let him in._   Demigod trying to destroy the world or not, this was a golden opportunity of sorts.

Momentary disquiet— fuck, who _was_ she? When did she get so brazen?

 

_You finally grow a pair and you’re going to chicken out? Shame._

 

Fuck that. What would _Ellana_ have done?

 

_Carpe diem, that’s what._

 

Before she could second guess herself, Rosal’s hand flew up, hooked behind his head, and pulled his mouth down into a bruising kiss. She felt Solas’ momentary stillness and nearly backed off, but in a blink he was on her _feverishly_ delving into her mouth, hand cupping her cheek and slowly caressing downward to her chest. His hand massaged her sensitive breast gently through her dress, a short tug freeing the weighty beasts with a bounce. She was proud of her chest, as it was large for an elf and earned her a boost in confidence each time it was noticed. _He's very much noticing now; he's grinning like a madman._ The air was sticky and heavy with arousal and Rosal’s whimpers as his mouth broke from hers to latch onto the pert pink rosebud on her right breast. 

_Shit, when did those get so sensitive._

Oh, Fade, that’s right— sensations are more transmutable. Still, she felt outside of herself; this moaning and writing _woman_ offering herself wantonly did not feel like her. _Yet_. Rosal quieted the unsure part of her mind for the _horny teenager_ bit of it that never had a chance to be sated. Her sexuality caught her by surprise. More so _his_ sexuality and eager acceptance of her thinly veiled proposition caught her by surprise as well. _A thousand years alone with spirits might weaken one’s resolve considerably._ He was still a man, and not an _actual_ God, after all.

In the distance, a violin played. _Canon in D. Precession._ It meant something to Rosal she could not quite pin, something that tugged strongly at her memory of this day and might reveal its place if she focused her thoughts. However, it meant nothing to Solas; the song was unfamiliar and barely registered. Rosal tucked the detail away to revisit.

A growl escaped Solas’s throat, and his mouth was back upon hers, hips grinding self-possessed into hers. She gasped at feeling his clothed erection so clearly rut against the crux of her thighs. Somewhere between dominating her mouth with his tongue and suckling her breast to near-orgasm, he’d managed to hike her skirt to her waist revealing equally ornate panties and a garter. Rosal’s hand’s gripped his hips and thrust into him with a groan, heart hammering through her chest. His hips pulled back from her and hovered, mouth trailing down her neck as his hand pushed her legs apart and slyly slid two strong, wandering fingers into the heat of her sex. His other hand massaged her ass as his kisses trailed feverishly lower. Her panties vanished, quite literally, as Solas bent the Fade so naturally to his will _,_ manipulation even the dream of another like it was child’s play.

 

_Oh, fuck, he’s going to…_

 

His lips dipped past her belly button and trailed down the bare trail to her womanhood to meet the rhythmic beckoning of his fingers. She felt paralyzed with sensation— hands gripping at whatever fabric it could find and lips uttering an obscene litany of pleasure.

Save for a mutual curiosity between her and Ellana, which mostly served to provide each other relief, she had little experience being on the receiving end of such an act. And certainly no man had touched her like this, and no man had put a mouth on anything below her waist. _At least not in this life._ Kissing was one thing, this was…Embarrassment trickled into peripheral of her mind. She rarely even let Ellana— who’d been so eager to touch her— study her so intimately. Their meetings had always fallen under the hush of night, in a quiet field or when no one else was in the aravel, and it was usually Ellana requesting or gently urging Rosal into masturbating her or sucking her clit. She’d often used her own mouth on Ellana, but rarely let her return the same.

  _She did always offer, though._

 The ripples of pleasure in the Fade that were not her own told Rosal with certainty that Solas was enjoying such an act. She could empathize. There was pleasure to be gained from controlling the pleasure of another; pleasure to be gained from pulling another’s strings till they came undone. Ellana came beautifully every time— her earth-colored vulva delicately arranged, slight lips, perfectly symmetrical and the daintiest of barely-cloaked clits. Rosal hadn’t considered vulva beautiful until she saw Ellana’s undulating in release. Such a sweet taste. Her own appeared different— pink lips with a delicate lace falling from her slit, and a thick, hooded clit.She’d thought her sex strange. Ellana assured her it was not.

_It appears Solas agrees._

As confidence surged within her, her voice became audacious, urging him to continue, “ _S-sathan! Solas!_ ”

 He met her cries with approval; the surge of his arousal poured into the either, mixing with her own. Shortly after his lips attached to her swollen clit and matched the rhythm of her hands she felt herself tighten and twist from the pit of her gut, a coil preparing to spring. Solas moaned loudly against her, sensing her pending release, and summoned a wisp of magic to curl around his fingers and lips. A gentle pulse joined the rhythm of his hands. It was too much. Her own mana released into the air as she came, vision blurring and colors pulsating violently behind her eyes. Magic swelled and filled her detaching her slightly from the dream.

 

His voice recalled her as he murmured strings of barely comprehensible Elvhen into her ear, hand massaging her honeyed vulva gently before using his hand to hook her leg behind his waist, “You are _so beautiful, Rosal. May I fill you?”_

She wordlessly nodded and aligned the head of his penis to her opening with a delicate hand. A gentle prod from his warm silken flesh earned a groan; Rosal instinctually pushed against him in response, the taught foreskin of his cock rolling slowly back as she eased him gently beyond her threshold. Solas met with a wall of resistance, despite the ample lubrication from her cum. With a grunt, he sharply thrust against the wall earning a soft whine as she parted for his thick cock. Rosal shifted uncomfortably and he kissed her sweetly in response.Solas’ breath hitched and caught in his throat, hips sinking into her, shaking from restraint.

_"Relax, fenorain."_

The hot, tight pulling of her wet cunt evoked a gasp from his lips with an uncharacteristic loudness. It had been far, far too long since he was intimate— even in dreams— and he rarely indulged in self-gratification awake or asleep. Slowly he withdrew, face hidden in her neck as he savored the slow drag and changes of pressure along his shaft. All that potential space in her, for him. He would be a fool if he did not see her fascination and infatuation in her curious glances, and in her eagerness for his praise. Even in her anger there was affection; she would have written him off if there was not. At this moment his mind did not wonder if it were wise to engage in dalliances with mortal beings; Solas’ own limit in resisting intimacy was weak after a millennia isolated. There was time for worry later. Worry that he wanted more than her sex. Solas wanted her charm, her sadness, her sharp mind, her companionship, and love. He wanted her in waking, too. But right now sex must do.

Unable to restrain himself to careful movements any longer, he fell into a steady rhythm. She writhed and mewed below him, face betraying her inexperience with such sensation, such _fullness_. Solas chuckled and whispered flattering reassurances into her ear, leaving a trail of kisses in the wake of his words. Rosal could not stop her hips from shaking and aching as he was much thicker than any digit and her body shouted a complaint at the difference. Sex was more intrusive than she remembered, more abrupt, and certainly required a physical learning curve even in the Fade. Training a rarely used muscle required practice and initial discomfort. Reading her sensitivity, Solas threaded his magic again around her and hummed it steadily against her sex for stimulation.

Rosal tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting. A gasp escaped her lips and her hips began to meet his thrusts in time, once again earning pretty Elvhen praises. Her hands found his hips and her own magic found his magic— twining and braiding against her flesh as again the coil pulled tightly within her. Solas’ ragged breath betrayed his own nearness that grew with each uninhibited thrust. He wasn’t ready to finish; he wanted to feel her tight girlish cunt wring and pulse around him, milk him dry, “ _Come again for me, Rosal.”_

She moaned and cursed loudly as his magic buzzed against her clit, nails digging into his flanks as she tightened so strongly around him his movements ceased, “ _Fe-Fenedhis!”_

With a whimper, she came with a gush of fluid. He moaned loudly in gratitude and through the waves of her own pleasure Rosal felt him pulse within her, a pressure building in the back of her vagina as he came in ribbons. She felt his walled off feelings release: intense pleasure, and with it, adoration and relief. Her own mind still reeled and her magic swelled within her, unable to hold the dream fully as ripples of satisfaction coarse through her.

 Solas’ conscious flooded back into his mind to flagellate him— what a fool he was, how horrible a man. To take advantage of an innocent _girl_ ’s youthful lust in her dream was both selfish and foolish. Certainly there were feelings attached— her’s _and_ his— that would leave casualty in its wake. He kept his discomfort to himself, however, for he could not give her panic here. It was risky to engage in sex in the Fade, but not nearly as risky as the fear and humiliation he could invoke by rejecting her now or engaging in emotionally charged conversation. Intercourse did attract demons, but ones easily banished if the sex consensual, emotionally lazy, and within the constructs of a well-formed dream. Not that a demon could best him in such a situation; he was well practiced and proved a good partner for such activities. He could yet play this encounter off, or apologize when they woke for such a distraction for a relationship was not a smart option for him, knowing what he must do. _And knowing what she must do could yet destroy her as it nearly did the first attempt._

Between two healthy people sex happened naturally, and it was no surprise to him he’d feel comfortable enough in the Fade to act on the hedonistic impulse to mate her with such _enthusiasm_. Rosal was young and beautiful. She was precious, curious, intelligent, and feminine— and he had a strong predilection for such women that he had rarely denied indulging in the past. His voracious appetite in the time of Arlathan was infamous; he was as brazen and reckless with his romantic affairs in his youth as he was with his political affairs. Perhaps a small piece of that reckless abandon remained as a permanent fixture to his person. _It must._ Giving her even small joys also lightened his own load and guilt, but raised many uncomfortable truths. _You have given her a death sentence by indirectly cursing her with that mark._ Her sad eyes and softness called to him even in the Fade; instinctually he wanted to coddle and pleasure her as if it would cure what ailed her. _Which was what, precisely?_ It was not just the mark that plagued her. What was this dream? Such a memory was unnatural for her to possess, yet there it was. _She is so real, even in dreaming._ A white dress of unique fashion and questionable purpose, a garden of strange flowers with sleek architecture, and unfamiliar court music. None of his explorations, in either waking or dreaming, had shown him such a scene or such a sky.

 

_Curious._

 

Stroking her cheek, he looked into her hooded eyes, still intimately seated within her, “Rosal? You cannot sleep here.”

“What happens if I sleep in the Fade?” she murmured with a sleepy smile, “I’ve never tried that.”

“It is a good thing you haven’t— did your Keeper not explain to you why? It is basic knowledge to mages.” Really, even their knowledge of magic now was becoming abysmal. Simply knowing _not_ to was not the same as knowing _why_ and certainly would lead to fear and misuse.

Rosal sighed, “She just said ‘don’t do it.’ I am not sure she knew herself the reason.”

He tutted, kissing her softly and nuzzling his nose against hers, “You would fall into a deep trance impenetrable to outside stimulation, and perhaps deeper than you could awake from on your own in dreaming. Some who venture to such depths find themselves quickly drawn the peace of the Void.”

She huffed, “You mean I would die?”

“It is possible. It depends on the held will of your soul. If you were to pass on in such a state, part of you would have willed it. Young mages should avoid it completely, and even skilled mages should not test themselves in such a way, especially alone.” He stroked her now messy hair lovingly, tucking a loose piece behind her ear before his hand grew distracted with her chest, massaging and rolling the nipple before gently squeezing the ample flesh, "Ah, these are... well, I appreciate your _generous_ beauty here as well."

She grinned at him, ignoring his distraction, “Have you done it? Slept in the Fade.”

He laughed, “Yes, but I have many years of experience and I had very specific reasonings. We can discuss the technical matters when we wake.”

 

And with a kiss, she awoke.

 

Her mana reserve hummed, brimming with magic, and her sex pulsed in repose. It seems some physical responses mirrored in waking; Rosal certainly ached pleasantly as if she just had sex, the slow contractions calming with every passing minute. _Does it count if it’s Fade sex? I feel like it should count as my first time with a man._ A smile tugged at her lip as she let herself feel a little happy.

The predawn light bouncing through the cut in the flap of the tent. She was glad to be alone in the stuffy medical tent, which now smelt strongly of her wetted sex. Her hand trailed down and felt the throughly soaked crotch on her leggings; the sheet protecting the cot below her was also throughly drenched. A feeling of mollification set in and she groaned; she’d come forcefully enough to completely wet herself. Why didn’t she know any spells for this? _It’s not like it’s the first time, you child._ Her wetter orgasms had previously surprised her and even Ellana, who’d been fascinated with the emission and considerably pleased with herself at causing it. _She gloated about it for over a week._ That he could draw such intensity out of her, even in sleep… what would it be like awake? Rosal moaned at the thought.

 

_This complicates matters._

 

In another tent, Solas awoke with his own proof of their shared dream, his dwarven tent mate snoring cluelessly next to him as he shifted awkwardly under his blanket. _A considerable mess._ With a wave of his hand, he dried himself and sat upright. Though he had his anxiety about engaging her, he could not lose the sated feeling with which he awoke to any measure of worry.

 

He sighed. She sighed.

Despite distance, they unknowingly shared a simple thought. 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon is Solas likes squishy bits because they remind him of home-- cue the ass grabs and titty massages. Those tall, curvy Arlathanian goddess ladies must make the Dalish look like pigmies. 
> 
> Also, sorry if the POV was confusing on this chapter. Since sex is a very intimate, physical conversation and the Fade is so moldable, their POVs merge and overlap intentionally. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Bit of SPOILERS below but I feel like sharing, mostly as warning that there will be gay sex in this story:**
> 
>  
> 
> Rosal has a very complicated relationship with Ellana, if that's not already apparent because she's basically obsessed and even thinks about her during sex with _other people._ More will be revealed about their relationship, but it was pretty one-way as far as affections. Ellana just wanted to experiment with lesbian sex, and Rosal ended up deepening her adoration and developing feelings of love for her. She fails to see Ellana's faults because of this, though one of Ellana's huge faults is that she continued to use Rosal for sex despite being well aware of Rosal's romantic feelings for her. Rosal was aware, but put on the blinders each time Ellana would sleep or date other people (always men) _while still fucking Rosal._ Borderline abusive behavior. 
> 
> She cared about Rosal, but not as a romantic partner. You see Ellana through Rosal's lens but there will be opportunity later to see her through more neutral eyes/a more dependable narrator. Yes, Rosal is very much bisexual and is only inexperienced with heterosexual sex (which is a whole 'nother beast, in my own bisexual opinion). She is much more comfortable around women due to her past-past trauma (other life) and her fascination with Solas is pretty unique and partially due to her memory. Dealing with Ellana's death will take a while and she hasn't really processed it correctly because she knew in a way it would happen, so it wasn't a surprise. 
> 
> This is most certainly a Sovellan fic and the plot revolves around that, but I am toying with the idea of having her also attracted to Sera. Mostly because the idea of a rivalry between Solas and Sera pleases me and is great to write. Also, writing lesbian sex scenes is fun for me and having a fling with another LI might bring out Solas' competitive, cruel, and argumentative side. 
> 
> Why? Because he's a big ass at times, and I don't want Dear Reader to forget. 
> 
> He's also selfish as fuck. Headcanon is Solas was an only child.


	8. Biology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Rosal discuss their dream encounter and she gets an Elvhen Biology lesson the Dalish never taught her, much to her embarrassment. Solas considers his role in the young woman's life, and succeeds in restraining his own feelings... for now, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking some liberties with elf biology here because I'm a creep, [Yes.] I'm a weeeeirdo [Correct.].... what the hell am I doing here? [Writing porn.] I don't beloooong here. [Actually, it's fine.]

“So, what’s going on, Rosie.” Varric slowly approached Rosal as she bent to loosen her foot bindings by a stream, his voice curious and playful. It was a particularly busy morning and, save for her meeting with Mother Giselle, very little was as she expected. It turns out chasing rams was more time consuming and exhausting than she’d anticipated, considering the rocky terrain that deterred humans but seemed to elate the rams. _How do they stand sideways like that? Are all rams like that? Are they… enchanted rams?_

“What do you mean, Varric?” Rosal dipped her tired feet into the cool water with a hiss.

“Oh, I don’t know, the tension between you and Chuckles is so unbearable I momentarily considered pushing you two off the side of the mountain into one of those ominous looking pits. So you can just… _work it out_ ” He winked at her suggestively.

Rosal coughed and turned her rapidly flushing face, “I…well…uh….” _Oh fuck it,_ “I think… I mean, he is attractive, I think, and… I mean.”

“Yeah, no shit you find him attractive. A blind man could see that much! But you were all doe-y eyed yesterday, suddenly, overnight _as if by magic,_ now you can’t look at him for longer than a few seconds, or without a _rather curious_ and all around _lusty_ expression. You’re practically avoiding the man.”

She sighed, “Varric, please don’t pry, I mean, what happened… _it’s private.”_

“And that’s all the confirmation I needed.” He grinned widely, turning back towards the camp, hand raising in the air, “See you at camp in a bit, _Rosie,_ Cassandra and I are going to the Crossroads _._ ”

She groaned and face-palmed, falling back into the undergrowth along the creek, closing her eyes and sighing.

 

 

Solas’ soft tenor trickled through her ears, the tone comforting and affectionate, “ _Da’len_ , you will miss your meal if you lay here too long.” 

_“Oh…”_ Her lips parted and eye lashes fluttered at him as she sat up abruptly. She was expecting… well, she wasn’t expecting his affection after a morning of near silence, she was expecting rejection? Something like it. “Ah, _ir abelas_ , Solas.”

He smiled and sat close to her, handing her a hunk of bread and a chunk of roasted ram, both wrapped in a cloth. After a time of silently watching her eat, he asked, “How are you feeling? It seems your magic has completely recovered.”

“Much better, thanks to you…” That came out entirely more sultry than she intended.

He chuckled, hand brushing an errant hair from her face with ghost-soft fingers, eyes soft, “ _Da’len,_ we should… speak of last night. I feel you’re dodging confronting me on the matter.”

_Oh, no._ A look of dread spread across her face as she fought becoming unhinged, her eyes immediately shimmering as she fought her own silence.

He noted the expression immediately; she looked like a scared animal knowing it’s about to be slain. He realized how final he might sound, how sharp the dagger might hit a fragile heart, “Do not fret, _Rosal_ , I…I just wish to talk, _sathan,_ do not give me that expression…it disquiets me. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

He gently kissed her forehead, hands bracing her arms, “I apologize, I acted rashly last night. Things have always been easier for me in the Fade. My feelings are genuine…however…”

Her heart skipped a beat, “ _However?”_

“I took advantage of you, it was highly inappropriate and completely unacceptable. It will not happen again.”

She flushed, “No! I was… I was the one who started with the kissing.”

“And would you have responded in such a way if I wasn’t practically laying on you? It is my responsibility, as I entered your dream and you are inexperienced and young. I violated your trust…”

“You did not _violate me_! I am perfectly capable of deciding whether or not I want to lay with someone, whether in dreaming _or_ waking.” She looked angry, “I wanted to, I _have_ wanted to feel you like that…” Her voice trailed off quietly, eyes falling away from his abashed, but hands embolden and gliding across the plain of his stomach, “I still do, but you know, now. While we are _awake_.”

“ _Rosal,”_ he bit back a moan, expression pained. Oh, he would strip off her leggings and granted her wish right then if he were a younger version of himself, “I am well aware of your affections, _which is my point_ _in suggesting it is my responsibility._ I very much want to appease your desire, as I find it my own, but it is not wise. We can revisit the idea later, but I do not want to distract from our very important task of closing the Breech. There are certain… considerations for me as well. However, not here, not now. Not yet.”

“When?” She demanded with the look of a petulant, spoiled child.

She practically sat in his lap now, and Solas’s hands found themselves quite quickly attached to her generous rear, which felt even softer than last night. The lobes of her ass molded to his hand, his fingers easily sinking into her softness through the thin, worn leather of her breeches. _So perfect._ His cock stirred and his ears flushed in response, eyes drinking in her sweet, eager look of need clouding her eyes. _She needs to be mated_. He remembered the pain of adolescence and heat and downright _need_ to fuck that was most likely overwhelming her reasoning capacities to some extent; there was a logic in why Dalish elves pair bonded early and it was their Elvhen biology. _Though it all happened much later in us._ Her hand outlined and squeezed boldly at the bulge in his pants, brows knit in determination. _This girl child, this imp…_

__Well_ then, _ Solas thought _, _if she wishes to act like a child she will be treated as such.__

Solas moaned, now completely stiff in her grip. He stilled her hand after a moment of self indulgence and his voice became stern, “ _Da’len.”_

“I’m not a child, _Solas.”_ The pouting wasn’t helping her case.

His eyes met hers sharply, _“Yet you act like one.”_

She froze and glowered at him, nonplussed, “That is unfounded! I…I..”

“You are unable to have this conversation _like an adult_ , without getting completely distracted by your immediate _need_ , so yes, you are a child, _da’len,_ which strengthens my resolve in thinking this highly inappropriate and it my sole responsibility to insist on space before you hurt yourself demanding a relationship at a level of which you cannot handle the repercussions. I understand your biology quiet well and, truly, I empathize but I do not want you to regret your actions, or disrespect either of our feelings and intent. I am not…” he sighed, “I am not _rejecting_ you, Rosal. I think you should spend time thinking about what you want _beyond_ _sex_ and also refocus on our real duty here. If the Breech remains, it matters little what any of us wants romantically or otherwise.” 

Rosal’s proverbial tail was tucked well between her legs. She shifted awkwardly in his lap, where he was still firmly holding her, stroking her back soothingly. _Bastard._ Rosa was suddenly feeling very foolish and deserving of the admonishment; she could no longer meet his still stern eyes. _Perhaps he is right, perhaps I am still too unprepared for these feelings._ The heat in her loins taunted her and she glowered bitterly at her hands as her mind fought for control.

She missed the unfettered relationship between her and Ellana— it was much the opposite of what she and Solas were currently experiencing. Where Ellana freely gave her what her body and Rosal’s body desired, she kept her feelings heavily segregated. Such a clear distinction was both comforting and heartbreaking. There was comfort in knowing where she stood every time she lay with Ellana, who’d made it very clear Rosal’s romantic feelings were unrequited. _‘We’re friends, Rosal, right? We help each other out with our needs.’_ she had said.Solas was more mature, different— his feelings were not something separate and he had no problem restraining himself sexually (well, at least outside the Fade) when he thought it prudent. _Perhaps that is what he means by adult;is he respecting me by taking such precautions?_ He certainly was a careful man, overall. She didn’t quite accept what that implied about Ellana, but considering she was even younger than Rosal it was hard to fully hold Ellana accountable for her immaturity and disrespect.

The heat between her legs hammered painfully to get her attention and she lost her thoughts, eyes unfocused and breathing heavy. He noticed immediately the disconnect in her emotions and softened his countenance. 

“Rosal?” his voice was no longer stern, but concerned and soft— _paternal—_ that sent shivers down her spine.

“I…I..” The tumultuous pool of feelings in her, combined with her physical tensions, was dizzying and overwhelming. She swayed, “ _Ir abelas_ it’s just hard to think about what you said and, and… a little unexpected and I’m _frustrated_.”

“Ah.” He sighed, looking unsure of what he was a bout to suggest, and cleared his throat. “You must calm your _physical state_ before you can expect to think with any clarity. I apologize for not considering it might not be the best time for this conversation though I am largly to blame for your agitation…due to my _unwise_ interference last night I have unleashed such an unresolved state on you. Finding pleasure in the Fade can result in increased sensitivity in your waking state. Please, it does not change what I have said before, but let me assist you now.”

Rosal all but moaned the response, slumping her head against his shoulder in defeat, “Solas, I… _yes_ , please, oh…”

He shifted and flipped her around in his lap, holding her snugly between his own open legs as he slid her leather leggings down smoothly and sat them beside him. Solas hooked her legs behind his, stretching them open before untying the corners of her small clothes and letting them fall, unleashing a thick, musky scent into the surrounding air. He inhaled sharply, reminding himself this was for her sake, not his. His cock protested loudly; there was no hiding from her his arousal when she was so closely pressed against him and she ground needy into it. He shushed and stilled her hips before dipping his hand across her still-clothed stomach to caress her exposed sex. “Let me know any time if you want me to stop.”

Rosal breathed in heavy and another wave of her hormones hit his nose, “ _Sathan, Solas.”_

He watched a bead of moisture drip down her vulva. _She is so beautiful_. He groaned, two elegant fingers plunging into her liquid heat to curl forward, stroking the wall behind her clit while rubbing it rhythmically from the outside with his thumb. Her eyes flit shut, exhaling a trapped breath. Solas let a steady, low stream of electricity build in his fingers, eliciting whimpers with each pulse. She shook and thrust eagerly against his hand, lost completely in the feeling. This would not take long; he’d been massaging her less than a minute and already she was in such a state and beginning to clench around his hand. He reached his fingers a little deeper, and stroked the swell deep within her, surprised to find it taught. _It seems she will release._ Solas wondered if she was aware of what was about to happen when she came. _She must know._

“You are close.” It was not a question.

“Yes… ah… ah…” she squirmed and thrust against his hand, huffing in frustration as she desperately tried to push over the wall.

“Just relax, _da’len_. Still yourself— I will take care of you.” His voice was so intoxicating and soothing, Rosal could not disobey and stilled, relaxing again against him and biting her lip.

“Good _, and don't hold it in.”_ He purred in her ear, adding another digit and eliciting gasp after gasp from her as he spread and swirled them slightly, stretching her in a rhythmic circular motion; she felt so wonderfully full. He bent his head to meet her ear and sucked gently on the tip, his other hand sliding from steading her hip to sliding into the front of her tunic, pinching and rolling her nipple. With a yelp, she clenched his fingers motionless. He whispered softly in Elvhen, “ _Only a bit more, ‘ma da’fenlin…”_

His little wolfing. He smiled softly at the endearment that had slipped out naturally, the subtle proof of his affections. He was afraid he would break her, devour her completely if he gave into her fully and took her as his lover— she didn’t deserve that, but he would not deny her affection. Solas was fine with this role, too; her _ha’hren._ This behavior was common in the days of Arlathan: for a teacher to bend where the student needed, and take on a more sexualized role in the younger one’s life when they reached maturity. This concept was alien to the Dalish as they had chosen to forget any ideas or truths of the Elvhen Empire where it suited them, and in doing so had become so prudish and disconnected from each other. Their ignorance harmed their youth considerably, and now they did not known the truths of their own bodies.

His thumb maintained its rhythmic pace, urging her muscles to relax and pulse. _One, two, three, four_ drums of his thumb against her clit and she choked on a cry, body completely releasing her frustration with a healthy gush of cum and fierce contractions against his hand. The grass and his hand glistened with her release and she relaxed completely against him, spent, eyes closed and darling puffs of air rushing from her lungs. _Fenedhis, as I thought_. His cock twitched as the heavy pheromones wafted into his face.

Rosal’s mind cleared enough to realize, and she looked at the grass, horrified. _Creators, when will I grow out of this._

She babbled wildly, “Oh…oh! Oh Gods, that’s… _ir abelas, Solas._ Did I get it on your clothes?”

He inhaled and huskily spoke, “ _No_ … it’s fine, _da’len— asreun_ in very natural and healthy, please do not feel shame— In fact, it’s a very good sign of your sexual maturity.” He paused, curious, “Have you always…?”

She flushed, “Yes, but, well, now it’s every time lately. It used to be less frequent and just uh, _less_. Less volume, less… distance. I… it’s _really embarrassing!_ It’s like I completely lose control down there and it all just _sprays_ out all _inconvenient_ and messy.”

He chuckled deeply, “For some elven women it happens every time, so that might be your reality, ‘ _ma fenlin_. I will teach you a spell to clean up if it’s become an inconvenience. Fortunately, I do not think the grass minds.”

A small voice left her lips curiously, “What is it though…” 

“Mostly water, but its heavy fragrance is your pheromones. It builds up with your orgasm in a gland and the exit, right inside your entrance, tightens and releases when you come. If I were inside you during your orgasm, most of it would flood the cavity and certainly spur my release. It _does_ have a biological function.” A single finger dipped back into her relaxed vagina and massaged a tender, slightly sore spot deep and towards the back of her cunt, “Do you feel it? _Here._ Pay attention next time you masturbate and massage this spot near climax and you will feel it. The less you hold back the more relief you will feel and the stronger the orgasm. _”_

 

_Why hadn’t Keeper mentioned this in ‘the talk?’_

 

Flustered, she looked to him curiously, “I don’t smell anything? Do non-elves do this? Keeper never mentioned…you…you know an awful lot about this.”

He smirked a cocksure grin and withdrew his hand, “Well, of course— I am much more _experienced_ with sex _,_ da’len. _You_ will not smell _yourself_ , but other _elves_ most certainly will. It’s… ah… highly _arousing_. As far as if non-elves experience this, I know humans are capable to some extent but do so infrequently and in comparatively minute amounts. I doubt they will smell you, either, unless perhaps if they are elf-blooded.”

“It is no surprise to me your Keeper did not speak about such aspects when they are now uncommon on the whole. So much has been lost, even your own biology is a mystery to you. That you have been denied accurate knowledge of your own body and thus feel shame— it frustrates me, but that is a different conversation. From what I can glean, it is also not Dalish custom to speak openly about sex and masturbation is eschewed?”

“No, we don’t learn about it, really, besides explaining it’s function in reproduction and _not_ to do it if we are unbound. And Keeper said…” She cleared her throat, questions pouring from her lips, “That self gratification attracted demons. It doesn’t then? What about in the Fade? And scent? I have a scent? I think…I think I have noticed that before on other people! At times… Does—does that mean you can…”

“ _Demons? Truly?_ ” he balked, “ _Maybe_ in the Fade _without_ the right precautions, but otherwise that is utter nonsense. But _yes,_ your fragrance is particularly potent. I imagine I could smell it from camp, as well, if you’d gone here on your own.” he teased, “Your tent smelt much the same this morning."

She bit her lip and flushed, “Oh.”

He waved his hand, a cool tingle of magic drying her sex and panties before carefully retying them. “Your cabin in Haven as well.”

“Solas!” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands.

He laughed a genuine laugh, “I am telling you for your benefit. I do not wish you to lure unwanted attention, though it is no ones business but your own and certainly you should feel no shame or that you must hide it. Anyone who takes it as an invite is a fool and highly inappropriate. Your _asreun_ is a truly _intoxicating_ part of your womanhood to be celebrated, not some unhygienic mistake as you seem to have assumed in lieu of a _proper_ education _._ Also, I am honestly glad you do not take your Keeper’s advice about _demons_ seriously and deny yourself relief.”

“You speak of it all like… I mean, I’m not some kind of animal.” She muttered and shifted her legs out from their spread position and grabbed for her pants. She glanced at Solas’ still strained crotch and flushed, quickly adverting her eyes. _Gods, he’s bigger than any Dalish man for sure_. He was not ashamed nor did he try to hide his arousal as he lazily shifted his bulge to alleviate discomfort. Even in sex, he was fiercely proud.

“Aren’t you? We are not so different from animals, _da’len_ , and the sooner you accept the fact the more you will be able to control yourself and your more base instincts. Now, I would follow you back, but I have to still myself of your affect and need some privacy.”

 

_Must he be so proper, even when talking about masturbating?_

 

“Oh… oh, of course, If you want, I could….” She offered timidly, large crystalline orbs shining up at him.

He smiled softly, sensing her anxiety, “ _No, da’len_. I am flattered, but I am capable myself and it would not be appropriate; I do not feel comfortable requesting such things of you, either, when I know your feelings.”

Rosal nodded silently then cleared her throat, turning and walking towards camp, listening to the sound of him unfasten his pants and groan as she left on still wobbly legs.

As soon as she was far enough away, Solas released himself from his pants and tugged languidly at his purpled member. His hand was still coated in her ejaculate, which tingled and prickled on his skin pleasantly. He was in no rush to finish but as he closed his eyes to recall the images of Rosal writing against his hand he felt a familiar tightening begin to take hold. Her scent still hung heavily in the air, the signals finally hijacking his self control— _young, female, fertile, aroused_ — as his hand quickened to alleviate the unbearable tension. He remembered the impossibly perfect pressure of her around his sex last night, and the delicious sounds spilling unabashed from her lips. _Such innocence._ Her honest feelings absolved any darkness from her desire, leaving only her unfettered and pure sexuality. Not a single desire demon had tired to permeate the barriers he cast around her dreamscape. Remembering how she shook— _trembled—_ when she called his name was what pushed him over the edge, his own voice a heady growl as he spent himself on the same patch of grass she had.

_And if she did grow?_ What would he do if he no longer had an excuse for her? Solas did not have an answer. She _felt_ real but he still did not want to admit how real, and how much he longed to be wrong. He was so very tired.

 

Cassandra and Varric were still gone upon her return; Cassandra had taken some scouts to deliver the ram meat they’d gathered and Varric had gone to inform Whittle of the apostate supply locations they’d found for the refugees. Rosal closed herself in her tent, mind racing.

Damn him and his confusing, mixed signals. _Was it truly so confusing a thing to offer?_ No, he touched her as a friend— a _teacher_ — not as a lover. _Hah’ren._ A lover would have taken his time, a lover would have no qualms about seeking his own pleasure with her. In a seemingly clinical manner, unconcerned with himself, he’d touched her so intimately and with such exacting precision. Rosal wondered how many lovers he’d taken, how many women he’d sated that he could play her body like a lute.Solas was a detached professional, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a still dreaming man who thought this world unreal. _But you can make it real for him._ So much hinged on their relationship, so much change she must direct that starts with changing his attitude. In her memory she’d never seen a timeline where Solas changed without a lover; was it possible? _It is, but is that a timeline you wish to see?_

The though filled her with a mix of anger and disappointment directed at herself: he was absolutely right to call her a child. She behaved completely inappropriately, and the silence and tension she had attributed to mutual feelings this morning and for most of the day _were entirely her own_. He had been testing her, waiting to see how she would handle herself in an adult situation and she had utterly failed. He had not avoided her, _she had avoided him_. Solas looked to speak with her soon after breakfast, but she evaded being alone with the man until it was unavoidable. He was right in putting a hold on any relationship. Still, she cursed him for being so cold; he held a high standard for himself and that poured over into his expectations for other people. Onto her.

Winning him would be significantly more difficult than she anticipated since it was no longer a simple equation of saying the right things in predetermined dialogue with limited outcomes. No, this time it was real and they were real people navigating real problems. It still baffled her how everything could be the same, but different, and raised questions within her about _how_ and _why_ such a record of events could exist, or if she was somehow mistaken. If one is an illusion, which would it be? The past or her now? This was no game or fanciful tale.

She let herself drift lightly, but heard Solas return and move around camp. An unnoticeable amount of time passed as she dozed in and out of light rest. The tent flap pulled open and the waning sunlight flooded the tent as Cassandra poked her head in, “Herald? Ah, you sleep. My apologies.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I was just resting. Have you determined our next move?”

“We must clear the path to Master Dennet’s farm as it is rife with Templars and a few apostates; there is a Templar camp en route. I wanted to suggest you travel with us this time, since it is far and we do not want to backtrack to retrieve you. However, this means you will need to be more careful and stay close to us if we say stay close, or fall back if we say to fall back.”

She sighed, and paused, “Rosal I know Solas wishes to _coddle_ you and I will not _pry_ into your relationship with the man, but you need to get over your aversion. Varric now also agrees. You are in an unfortunate position and you do not have a choice, as many wish to harm you and remaining incapable of self defense is dangerous. Your life is very important to very many people. We will not always be able to guard you, as you learned yesterday. I am certain you would be dead if Solas had been a second slower, and as much as he thinks he is able to shield you from war it is unavoidable. He is reluctant to admit it due to his affection, but I am sure he agrees. I am quite sure you know how to fight on at least a basic level, since you have less issue dealing with demons at rifts, but additional combat training always helps.”

While this criticism had been a long time coming, Rosal still felt the bile rise in her throat, “You are probably right, I… I am sorry I have caused undue stress and inconvenience. I agree but I don’t know how to get over the block I feel— I completely seize up. ”

“Practice and repeat exposure. It will be rough but eventually you will naturally fight in such situations. We will avoid the Templar camp at first… and go back with additional scouts when the time is right. For now we must concentrate on recruiting the Housemaster.” Cassandra sounded confident.

Cassandra nodded and dropped the tent’s curtain, “When you are ready, there is food.”

 

_I’m failing everyone’s expectations now…just great._


	9. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wisdom's solemn advice and battles that must be fought. Change is already happening-- soon not everything will be as Rosal remembers.

“I’m tired of being predictable.” Rosal paced astride _her_ Wisdom in a shadowy grove; meeting her friends had become difficult since Solas had entered her life— dangerous even. It was not a behavior she could explain. She was not sure if it was the same as Solas’ Wisdom but after Compassion left, she had quickly stepped up to help compensate. She was not a voice of comfort insomuch as a voice of logic where Rosal often let her emotions blind her and misguide her decision.

“What did you have in mind, dear friend? And predictable to whom— beyond us.”

“I…still haven’t really _changed_ anything, have I?”

The spirit’s glowing green hand cupped her cheek affectionately, the tingle of magic a cool vibration on Rosal’s cheek, “It is still merely the beginning, child.”

Rosal sat on one of the more solid looking rocks, “Maybe for _this, for the Inquisition_ , but I’ve lived a life in Thedas for 19 years already— all waiting for this chance. I cannot waste it— I cannot let my own shortcomings limit an opportunity for great change. I was put here for this reason, _I know it._ ”

“What is it that you’re trying to change and do you truly understand the implications? Do you even have an end goal? I do not sense you understand yourself what you are after, Rosal. Perhaps start there before expecting such a momentous task from yourself.” Her ethereal voice reverberated softly in the safe sphere she had cast. Wisdom assured her _no one_ would find her tonight.

“I…I feel unsteady, you know? It is as if I am unfit to direct the change I wish to see. I do not even know where to begin. I am too young, I am too unfocused, too emotional. I cannot see past my immediate needs…I am selfish in love, in war, in what I want from this world, this life!”

“I see you are still upset about your conversation with Solas, but… instead of being upset with the criticism, why not accept it and grow? It is not as if he is blocking you out, _da’len_. He is giving you a path. You already captured his affection in more than one way; it is you who must decide if it is a path you wish to walk. It is already… already more than what your memory has shown you, is it not? Try not to be so disappointed. Things still can change.”

She frowned, “So you agree with him then?”

“There is no question in my eyes that what he said is true. You are so very raw in your feelings, so inexperienced that… it would be unwise for either of you to expect a mature relationship _immediately_. Irresponsible, even. You still confuse your sexual feelings with romantic ones, although I honestly believe an uncomplicated love exist in you _for him as…_ I have seen your heart, sweet child. Have patients with yourself, and with him. He is still only a man with so much restraint and you test it daily. My advice to you on him is to indulge and yield to his wish to protect and guide you, but to maintain your independence and not let your frustrations cloud your affections simply because he returns them in an unexpected form. More importantly, try and concentrate on developing your actual role in the Inquisition and accept what you must do as a possible leader. It is clear they wish to groom you into more than a figurehead.”

“To be a leader, I must fight. I must show I can overcome my weakness. It’s not unexpected I have one, but it would be unacceptable in a leader if I let it cripple my ability to reason.”

“It saddens me, but yes. It is inevitable. Steel yourself, young one, and learn of _necessary pain_. There are reasons for this as well. Do not think of it as simply _overcoming_ because you will fail: it is not your nature, so do not try and change. You must be able to live with the reality you will need to act against your nature and the immense pain that will cause you. If you assume you can simply _change_ your nature, you will not be prepared for the pain.”

“Thank you, Wisdom, you always comfort me. Even when it is advice hard to hear I am glad you’re with me, friend.”

Normally stoic Wisdom’s emotions had grown into an overwhelming force in their shared dreamscape. As Rosal herself grew closer to the barrier between memories, Wisdom grew more _more._ Her wispy presence had taken shape into a body, with some discernible mass. Usually her disapproval or pride in Rosal’s decisions were more subtle and somewhat computered. She had disapproved of her relationship with Ellana, was proud of her resistance to her Keeper’s pressures, and disapproved of Rosal’s eventual capitulation.A change had begun the day Rosal appeared in the Fade with her vallas’lin firmly attached to her face; it was the first and only time Rosal had ever seen a spirit openly weep. Or at least, appear to weep. Rosal did not speak of her vallas’lin again, nor mention the night. Rosal had never forgotten what it meant to those intimate with history; the memory of Crestwood was real and fixed in her mind. She imagined a spirit of Wisdom would feel sadness because it spoke of their failure, their inability to communicate the emotional weight of history. 

But Rosal did not know Wisdom cried for another reason: it marked the inevitable beginning of the heavy memories she’d help protect. Time felt more real with Rosal’s friendship, and the passing of her childhood was a great tragedy for Wisdom as well. Wisdom loved her friend deeply, and that feeling was changing her. It was _making her real as it had made Compassion real._ The spirits had faded so many years undisturbed in the murky either, and then their purpose became relevant again: Compassion realized he needed to serve a purpose, as did Wisdom. He saw what he could do, and left the Fade confused with such paradox. However, as a spirit a paradox would not ruin him: he could _forget_. So he took the chance and left, as she had unknowingly asked him to do.

She did not want to leave the Fade as Compassion did, but it might also be a _necessary pain_. She would not change, or be perverted into Pride if she went willingly. But she could only go willingly if the need arose and _Rosal needed her_. Every visit Wisdom grew stronger, her eyes brighter, and touch heavier. Every time Rosal held her hand and said, _‘Stay with me always?’_ her heart grew. 

Being real starts with being asked to be real.

Gestures, touches, advice asked.

Rosal gave her unfettered access to her thoughts, and complete trust to move within and around her.

Rosal did not ask her to change.

How could she not love her?

Such a sad and turbulent child, but such immense respect lived in her as well. Respect for life, respect for feelings, respect for possibilities and change. Overwhelming reverence and love; she was a cup constantly overflowing but her desire to hold it all, despite her limits, would be her ruin.

_Yes, it is why she is so sad._

Wisdom knew of her possible fate, but also knew it did not have to pass. She did not plan on telling Rosal she was the same Wisdom, and had known Solas a great many years simply because she did not want her to become distracted with saving her. Still, knowing was also having an affect. She was becoming real, perhaps, due to self preservation? It was possible, though she did not mind her fate. Death came to all.

Ages upon ages ago, _Solas_ , then also Fen’Harel, had asked her to come stand by his side, to _become real_ as Mythal had asked him ages upon ages before that. And though he regretted it, and had not wanted to come at first, he did because it was the _right thing to do._ He asked Wisdom because _it was the right thing to do_ at the time since times were tumultuous and he needed strong council after Mythal’s death. She’d declined because he could easily fill the role himself— he did not need her to lead a revolt when he already made his decision. His request was out of desire for companionship, not for a need of her innate purpose. _He was lonely._

But for Rosal… Rosal could not fill such a role, could not transform as Pride had done and become somewhere between himself and Wisdom. Her soul was born of a pure mortal world, and not of the Fade, thus she reached out for connection as mortals did. Rosal needed Wisdom not simply for companionship, but for her special talent and deep trust in her advice. This was what she needed to make her decision, if required.And each visit brought her closer to a decision.

Wisdom spent the rest of the night sprouting lighthearted advice in the form of lore and fables, memories and histories deep and old. Such nights were pleasure for them both, and Rosal nearly always complained when it was time to wake.

 

  

Morning came and Rosal felt centered, as she always did after a night with Wisdom. She would do her best to not deviate from her advice. Silently she rose while her companions slept, readying her pack and greeting the scouts on early morning watch. Her bare feet slipped into the forest, game traps in one hand and knife in the other. 

Solas had given her space all evening, and once he awoke it was no different. He was generally the last to rise, and the first to sleep. She saw him slip out wordlessly When he woke he had a particular schedule he followed and usually disappeared into the surrounding woods to meditate and stretch before breakfast. Cassandra was also working on her own version of meditation: mutilating a tree with a well-worn sword she’d picked off a Templar. Apparently practice dummies were hard to come by outside of Haven.

Varric holding a letter by the fire, staring blankly at Cassandra’s early morning violence, “I think she’s got a bright future as a lumberjack if the whole Seeker of Truth or Inquisition thing goes south.”

Since Rosal was feeling particularly energetic, she’d taken point on preparing a rather lavish breakfast of rabbit, field greens, and eggs alongside porridge. She shoved a plate at Varric and smiled, “I feel sorry for the tree. At least it can’t feel anything, though I wonder what it did to rouse such a ferocious passion this early in the morning.”

“I think its branches rustled and the pollen made her sneeze,” he snarked, “A truly horrid offense worthy of no less punishment.”

“About right.” Rosal grinned, preparing two more plates and setting them aside, one for an approaching scout and another for an approaching elven apostate, who was slightly covered in pine needles and tree pollen.

Varric took a swig of water and grinned at Solas, who’s hands were busy brushing off aforementioned tree debris, “Did Cassandra shake the forest on you?”

“Something of the like. Ah,” he picked up the awaiting plate and took a seat on the makeshift log bench, unable to hide the pleased look on his face when the aroma hit his nose, “A veritable feast so early in the morning. To whom do I owe my gratitude?”

“That would be the Bless’d Savior and Hero of Breakfast, taking upon herself the impossible and often unwanted task of providing the camp with a meal not boiled in a pot over a fire _or_ made of nugs. Truly a miracle. She even trapped rabbits… fuck, Rosie, what time did you wake up?”

A scout piped up for her, “Four.”

“Four, ladies and gentlemen. Four.” Varric slapped the mildly impressed mage on the back and rose to his feet to fetch more porridge.

Rosal smiled shyly and laughed, “It will be a long day, best to start it with a healthy meal.Also,” she turned to Varric, smirking, “Dalish can trap rabbits in their sleep. Their availability is great and their intelligence is not.”

“You know, Rosie, that paints a whole new level of awful on Orlesians using _rabbit_ as a slur?”

An elven scout cackled and Rosal raised her flagon, “Here, here, he gets it! Gather ‘round, this morning’s fireside banter will be brought to you by _racial injustices._ ”

“Delicious, at least!” Varric spooned more porridge into his mouth. 

Solas tilted his head in amusement, glad to see her rather high spirits even more than the large meal, “Indeed.”

_“_ Seeker, I’m going to eat your plate if you don’t stop mutilating the tree.”

“You will not,” she scoffed, dropping her sword in a heartbeat and wiping her brow as she strode to the fireside. “I have been looking forward to this, you will not ruin it, _Dwarf.”_

“Good morning to you too, _Seeker.”_

A very brave scout shouted, apparent good mood fueled by a full stomach dulling his senses, “Kiss already!”

The look of pure disgust Cassandra shot the scout shut him up immediately, leaving Varric in stitches and slumped half off his designated log.

 

 

Two and a half hours later, their otherwise uneventful ride came to an end. Cassandra motioned wordlessly for them to lead their horses into the woods and out of sight before explaining they would have to travel the rest on foot, “We cannot put what few horses we have in peril. It will also be easier to approach the combatants on foot.”

Varric and Cassandra were roping their horses with enough slack to allow them access to a nearby stream, and Solas was doing the same. Apparently the scouts had been instructed to look to a particular marker near this gully to retrieve the horses.

Solas approached Rosal softly, hands framing her shoulders from behind as he bent to her ear, “Do not step behind me, _da’fenlin,_ I will guard you and keep your barrier strong— it should protect you from smites as well though it will eat up your barrier quicker than a melee attack.”

She met his eyes, finally. He’d not thought such a sense of relief could come from such a small nonverbal cue, but since their conversation the afternoon before she’d not met them once. He found himself resisting pulling her tightly to his chest— an innocent feeling but most certainly would be misunderstood by their companions who already suspected and misjudged too much about their relationship. It was not their concern. He settled for helping her adjust her armor after it had shifted during their ride, enjoying the restrained, pleased smiles she flashed at the care. Causing such transparent joy was a pleasure in itself.

“Solas?” Her normal curiosity piped through the air as she flexed her hands, looking back to Cassandra and Varric further down the hill and near the stream. Cassandra was waiting for Varric to finish loading Bianca and leaning impatiently on a tree.

“Hmm?” He was readjusting the staff harness’s position on his back and waist.

“I won’t freeze this time. And don’t look so guilty! Last time it wasn’t your fault… I’m… not solely your responsibility. I am my own.” She remembered Wisdom’s words and added, “Though I do appreciate your experience as it has saved my life multiple times over. I won’t go… rush into the thick of things.”

He chuckled softly then met her eyes a bit more sternly as they walked to the edge of a clearing, yelling in the distance growing ever closer, “I understand your desire to grow but, _sathan, ma’da’len_ , indulge me in this.”

She sung too sweetly, girlish charm dripping heavily from her lips,“ _Yes, hah’ren.”_

Cassandra let out an exasperated sigh as she approached, rolling her eyes at the shameless display of such brand of _femininity_ , “Are you two quite done? Solas, keep behind her and pick her up and run if you must. I will head in first, and Varric will look for opportunities to take out the range fighters. You two push forward towards the road to the farm and keep away from direct combat.”

Rosal admired Cassandra; her own stalwart determination and adherence to her belief a fine example of strength and willpower. She did what was right, her faith was a steady pillar that spilt over onto those around her. Watching her charge directly into a group of Templars was anxiety inducing and she was certainly a special woman for looking past her own fear.

Varric quickly flanked the group of Templars and took down two of the six: he was his own force as well and certainly his years with Hawke had honed his skill. Bianca was a marvel in its own right, but without Varric it would be just another tool. Could another produce such flawless results?

Varric and Cassandra worked surprisingly well in tandem. Two veterans.

No, three. Solas was perhaps more experienced than any of them. Rosal knew it was not just magic he mastered, but any number of masks were at his disposal. _The Slow Arrow. A warrior knight. A general. A rebel wolf._

His attention to detail was nearly flawless and the more she saw him fight the better Rosal realized _why_ he had felt shame and guilt when she fell to a smite: he did not make foolish mistakes on the battlefield. The constant barrier surrounding her and the overwhelming presence of his guard was reassuring to her and lessened her anxiety enough to participate. She would not fall.

Thinking about her companions also provided a certain level of distraction. Distraction enough that when a fiery blaze spilt from her staff and two men collapsed on the ground, she did not think twice. Distraction enough to move her feet nimbly though the field of downed men. without balking at the sight of corpses; _could four people really take on so many and win?_ It was not numbers, but power. These men were already weak with their collapsing lyrium addiction and mad with power— a hungry look festered in their eyes and crawled under their skin.

_Perhaps a dagger is the mercy they need._

Another man fell before she caught Solas’ eyes, curious and stern as he searched her face for her currently detached emotions. Her heart was hammering in her ears and she looked away. Staring too long would make this too real— even the thought caused her hands to shake.

_Oh no._

She rushed forward before she could think twice, following Cassandra and Varric from afar. Solas moved swiftly behind her, calling to her to fall back. His voice felt distant as if through a cave or pipe or tunnel and her mind couldn’t travel the long road quick enough to react before a swift movement in the corner of her eye flashed and blood spilled heavily to the ground. It was not her own. It was not Solas’ though he now stood between her and a dying man. The Templar stalker fell to the ground gripping his gut where Solas’ staff blade had slashed, entrails loosely in his hands and look of shock and horror plastered to his face. Rosal had not seen the man as Solas had.

He shook her softly, “Rosal, listen to me please! His dagger was inches from your neck! _Did you not see him?_ ”

“N-No.” The gruesome sight and most of all the smell, she could not look away.

Panic, worry, anger, love. Solas slipped into Elvhen any time he had issue controlling these feelings, “ _That could be you right now, ma’fenlin, if I had not caught him….”_

“Are you two alright? Varric called from the top of a hill while Cassandra kept watch. There were no more men in sight. “It’s clear from up here, we can move on.”

Rosal said nothing, still staring at the now unconscious and possibly dead man, so Solas answered, “Give us a moment please.”

“ _We are done here, Rosal._ You did well but, _sathan,_ do not forget simple instructions: stay close to me. You do not yet have the eyes you need to stand along on the field. Rosal? _Rosal?_ ” 

 Still she said nothing, huge orbs fixated on the body of the man. She vaguely registered being lifted and slung over Solas’ shoulder and moving backwards up the hill. _At least it wasn’t princess style._ He was deceptively strong and seemed under no duress from the additional weight. _Modern elves aren’t that big, pipsqueak._

Varric eyed the elf slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, “She OK, Solas? Looks like you took Seeker’s advice seriously there…”

“She will be fine, just a bit of shock. She took out at least five men on her own I am very surprised she didn’t experience this sooner.” He was anticipating the storm of emotions later that he could already feel beginning to rise from under her detachment. 

“She killed six, she took down one of the men I was fighting with lightning though I do not think she had aimed for him.” Cassandra was pleasantly surprised she’d preformed so well, “Let us rest before heading towards Redcliffe Farms.”

They moved out of the sun and into an abandoned cabin where Solas gently sat her onto the cot before unhooking his water skin and offering her a drink. Her hands shook, barely gripping the pouch as she raised it unsteadily to her lips.

_I killed someone.  
_ _I killed many someones with families and loves._  

His eyes met hers with pity, hand helping her steady hers enough to drink. Tears began to well in the corner of her distant blue eyes. _Here it comes._ She began to sob and all he could do was hold her cradled in his arms against his chest where she used his tunic to wipe her eyes. This was his fault— this child killed for _his_ mistakes. There is no way she could be the same after this and the blood on her hands was really her blood on his. Sadly, this lesson was a necessary one and it would not be the last time— just the first.

Varric and Cassandra said nothing and simply averted their eyes. Cassandra was glad in that moment the two had become such fast friends as she would have no idea how to calm the girl without frustration and possibly derailing her further. Their intimacy made Cassandra blush; a man and a woman did not commonly hold each other with such closeness in other’s presence, or unless they were… Her mind wandered and she cleared her throat, “Should Varric and I sit outside?”

He smiled grimly, voice sad, “If it makes you more comfortable, Lady Seeker.” 

 

Her cheeks tinted and she drug Varric by the collar outside the dilapidated cabin and halfway down the hill.

“Ow, I can walk on my own!” Varric swatted her hand away and readjusted his shirt.

 Her voice was powerful even when hushed, “You had a look!”

“Oh now you’re mad at me for _having a face!_ ”

She hissed, “No like you’re up to something, or thinking of something… or going to do something… something distasteful!” 

“I was doing no such thing! Damn, stop pretending you know what I am thinking. I wasn’t doing shit, just resting.” He shook his head.

“You would use such a sweet scene in…for your…” she babbled on, cheeks reddening as she thought more about the two elves. 

“Sweet?” Varric grinned, “Cassandra, are you… a romantic? And do you seriously think I would…write about a poor girl’s trauma for my book sales? You consider that sweet? She’s _mourning_ , Seeker, and he is comforting her, do you not understand the difference? Besides, I am shit at romance.”

“What! Why would you— why would you suggest such a thing. I am— I… anyway, you would not think of it yourself if you weren’t _considering_ it. You must be planning something, some book about this whole ordeal.” 

“Oh don’t get your panties in a knot, none of you are that interesting… yet. Also, book sales won’t matter if the hole in the sky swallows us all.” Varric laughed, “For now, let’s just wait here without disturbing them. Or arguing. _For once_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murder is hard.


	10. A Parlor Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During recovery, Rosal uncovers a thing or two about the mark.

Rosal and Cassandra left Master Dennet’s cabin with two major tasks separating them from the mounts: a cave full of demon wolves and building three watch towers. They’d spotted a few strangling wolves as they approached the farms, and immediately Solas had sensed them possessed or controlled by a demonic force. Unfortunately, the den was further down the river and a large, angry rift had to be closed before progressing, which would have to wait for the morning as the sun was dipping low in the sky already.

_Gee, I wonder where the demon controlling the wolves came from._

Rosal was attempting to move past the emotional breakdown in the cabin while simultaneously following Wisdom’s advice. It was not easy, and she wasn’t sure how she’d ended up being paired in a tent with Solas for the night without her own input taken into consideration, but her intuition told her it was his doing. She’d over heard bits of his concerned speech to Cassandra about ‘protecting her from nightmares’ and her ‘vulnerability to demons due to emotional trauma.’ Not that any of this wasn’t true, but it was humiliating to simply let him manage her wellbeing.

Cassandra, of course, probably agreed the moment the “D” word slipped from his mouth. Even the _suggestion_ she might be vulnerable to possession sent Cassandra into Seeker mode; such a valuable agent could not be lost. Her mark was the _only_ key to a very horrible, awful, no good door. Never mind the idea that a demon could possess her was ridiculous; they’d never tried and a general _feeling_ told her it probably was not possible, for whatever reason. Not that her companions were aware of her hunches, or how closely tied her soul was to the Fade. Not even Solas knew.

_I suppose this is what Wisdom meant by indulging him._

She held her tongue and did not contest when Cassandra moved her bedroll in with the scouts and Solas wordlessly positioned his next to hers. The tents were larger but three people was still a bit tight. _She’d rather sleep side to side than three feet from Varric._

Varric was tickled, “Guess I’m living the life of luxury tonight in my own private tent? Or do I smell?” 

Cassandra shot him a silencing glare, eyes warning him to not press the matter, “This is not something deserving of commentary, Varric. Though,” she smirked, not missing a beat, “You do need a bath.”

He simply shook his head and buried his face in his notebook, shuffling letters. Cassandra was sending word to Cullen and Leliana to move troops enough to construct the watch towers and Solas was harrying game for supper.

Finally, a moment to herself.

Rosal pulled a notebook from her pack, the leather already starting to show wear upon the binding. She’d taken to journaling her feelings when she felt out of control, but paranoia also meant she’d taken to burning most of the entries in the campfire. Today still felt unreal— the words were stuck in her hand, paralyzed. Despite the calming affect Solas had on her in the cabin, Rosal still felt emotionally numb. Her magic was behaving oddly and it was impossible to concentrate on conversation. She settled on descriptions— a mechanical feeling account of the day.Trying to write more was upsetting— she felt the ire rise in the pit of her stomach and panic begin to return. Flipping the journal shut, she laid down and shifted her mind to breathing, concentrating on the pattern of her breath. When anxiety started to take hold, sometimes she could avoid a complete seize by such meditations. She played in a such a state, suspended between the pull of her will and the pull of her trauma, for an inordinate amount of time.

By the time Solas returned with an entire ram and several rabbits, her absence had been noted. His concern lingered from earlier, noticing the cold drop of her emotional output as they walked into Redcliffe Farms. Such dissociation was troubling, and could threaten her magic and the stability of the mark. Cassandra approached him to help carry the haul, speaking quietly, “She has been in her tent for the entirety of your hunt.”

“Ah, have you checked on her? It is best she does not sleep alone.” Solas dropped the ram on a long wood table used for dressing game.

“I do not think she is sleeping but she is laying on her mat and breathing heavily.” Cassandra sighed, “I did not want to bother her.”

“I will, then.” He flicked his wrist, a spell cleansing the blood and dirt from his hands. No substitute for a proper bath, but it would do for now. He carefully lifted the flap of the tent as to not allow in excess light and his eyes fell upon her resting form. Rosal’s hands were covering her eyes, journal tossed to the side, breathing heavy, and a look of pain weighing heavily upon her brow.

He softly approached her, kneeling beside her and moving her hands from her eyes. She was teetering again on the brink which was actually preferable to her near-tranquil state earlier, “Rosal…”

She said nothing, eyes still closed and brows furrowed, but her hand slid naturally into his. He kissed the back of her hand before gently massaging the palm with his thumbs, “You must feel the pain or it will fester inside you, _da’len._ _Do not hide from it.”_

She sighed in a sort of release, mind plunging into the ice-cold bath of anxiety, goosebumps blanketing her skin. Soothing healing magic was trickling up her arm from Solas’ hands, a kind which she’d never felt before. A quiet moan escaped her lips and here eyes hazily sought Solas’ steady gaze. _Why is he being so kind to me?_ Rosal had not forgotten the wolf in sheep’s clothing: the man before her was an actor, was he not?

_And actors are the opposite of people._

Still, she believed his affection genuine. _He is a good liar, but not that good. He would not, could not, fake love._ The small, calming pleasure of his magic and gentle pressure of his thumbs ebbed away the corners of her sharp anxiety. The world around her slowly beganto return, along with her ability to identify feelings besides overwhelming stress and anxiety. Rosal exhaled a trapped breath and a slower rhythm returned. A more simple sadness brewed within her, quickly overflowing as quiet tears. Gone were the sobs of shock and regret she’d experienced earlier, gone was the numbness that followed her all afternoon and into the evening. “Will this get easier?”

Solas wiped the tears from her eyes with a soft, worn cloth from his pocket, “Not the pain, but dealing with it will, with practice. _It is you who must endure.”_

The corners of her lips turned in the smallest smile, “I knew my mother named me aptly. Though, I do not think this is what she named me for when she decided on _Rosal_.”

“No mother would wish to see their child face such a trial, _ma’fenlin._ ”

Rosal smiled at the pet name, surprised he would pick _that_ for her— a curiously filial choice. _Does he fancy himself a father figure?_ She was unsure how to deal with such a turn. _If so that’s…he’s a bit perverse. Perhaps he has a predilection?_ She didn’t put it passed him; you could not live such a long life without developing a few eccentricities or certain preferences, so to speak. Warmth spread in her belly at the thought— being the one to toy with his very _mortal_ cravings.

_I am just as debase for finding that possibility exciting._

He wrinkled his nose, smiling a bit to see the unmistakeable fire return to her cheeks. _She is starting to feel more herself._ “What are you thinking of? That is quite a curious expression.”

“Thinking about as of late, why you’ve taken to using such an endearment…” she stuttered shyly, his hand moving to stroke her cheek.

“Alas, perhaps I have mistaken your attachment. Do you find fault with my toward affections? I assumed you’d have no issue, considering the level of trust you’ve already bestowed upon me with your body. You prefer _Lady Herald?_ ” he smirked, eying the frown even the mention of the title brought. “No?”

“I mean… no, I like it but it’s a bit, _a bit_ … ” she flushed, averting her eyes as he kissed the back of her hand again.

Solas could not resist the subtle tease, Elvhen dancing from his lips, “ _My little wolf, won’t you give an old wolf a little joy?”_

“Take— take as much as you’d like!” _That came out the wrong way. Oh, Creators._

His eyebrows raised and she detected a small flush to his ears, “Quite an invitation.”

Her stomach broke the awkward silence, and he laughed, “It is that time. I brought back a ram and a few rabbits. Cassandra was cooking tonight, but I imagine some of the scouts will assist her in making it…”

“Palatable?” Rosal finished; Cassandra was not the most accomplished cook. _Utilitarian_ was a more adept description of her cooking style.

“That is the kinder way of putting it.” he chuckled softly.

“After supper should we take care of that rift?”

Solas was taken aback by the question, as Rosal understandably wasn’t usually gung-ho about sealing rifts, “I did not think you were feeling up to the rift tonight, considering. It is fine if it waits till morning. No, let’s wait— unstable emotions could hamper your ability to correctly control the mark.”

Solas gently removed the glove she kept on her marked hand and preformed the soft manipulations of the magic he used to check its stability. His brow furrowed and he tilted his head in thought. He had taken to checking her mark as frequently as he could, trying to preempt any change or possible leap in degradation that might cause her pain.

“Problem?”

“I was expecting, perhaps, your mark to be more volatile after an emotional shock? It is stable, which is good, but still I think it best to sleep before attempting to close the rift.”

Such a serious look for a ‘no problem.’ Rosal stroked the spot on her palm, “It doesn’t hurt anymore, not for a while. In fact, I hardly notice it now unless a rift is nearby, and even then it does not hurt.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect. Truly, he expected it to kill her, yet it did not fight her? It was as if the mark, _his_ magic, accepted her completely. Curious. “Do you feel it at all, even neutral feelings?” 

“No, it’s… sometimes I mean, it does feel _good_ though.”

Solas _was_ sure that is _not_ what he expected. Was he hearing things? “It feels _good_?”

“Like when I close a rift, my whole body then is coursing with Fade magic…”

“And it doesn’t _overwhelm_ you? Feel as if it is going to swallow you? You always look in pain, and unsettled.” _Baffling._

“No! I mean, its,” she cleared her throat, cheeks and chest flushing thinking of it, “It feels _very good_. So I have to, um, concentrate on controlling my body’s reaction. So it doesn’t cause me any, uh, embarrassment.”

He clicked his tongue in understanding her meaning. A note of surprise and excitement danced in his voice, “You mean to tell me the mark _arouses_ you when you utilize it? _Fascinating_ if so— a welcome surprise even, since I had assumed it pained you.”

“Not, not _just_ like that, though.. _yes_ it does. It’s all over! It’s like I’m overflowing with magic. What doesn’t roll over _fills_ me briefly and I feel bigger? It’s hard to describe. I feel connected and like I’m part of the magic, not just filled with it, and it touches every part of my body, every nerve. All my nerves feel on edge, like I am ready to fall off a cliff and….” she cleared her throat and trailed off.

Still baffled, Solas murmured and reached again for her hand, “And you… did not think to mention this to me?”

“It didn’t seem important since it wasn’t a problem but, I suppose it is curious and you are interested in this thing, yes?”

He chuckled, “May I try something? I was hesitant to attempt this before, thinking it might cause you pain, but now I doubt that.”

“What are you trying to do?”

He met her eyes, “Expand the channel of the mark. It might be possible to increase your grasp on the mark, allow you to pull more strongly from the Fade at your volition. It already sounds like it is attempting such a feat on its own, so you understand, it is better to have a steady, controlled expansion than a sudden rip. A sudden rip might cause you to lose control of your mental or physical facilities, or worse. Such a change would theoretically slow the draw from your own magic during use, even stop it. The mark’s energy would come more purely from the Fade and bypass your body as its conduit.”

Well, _this_ was different. Wasn’t she supposed to slowly watch the _anchor_ try and kill her until its eventual removal? Not that she could have known what the mark would have felt like to _Ellana._ “Which would mean what, practically speaking?”

“It would mean less stress, less deterioration on your body, and possibly a more _standard_ use. A use outside of closing rifts. You could… manipulate the Fade, even— learn to harness the mark’s power and, instead of it pulling from your power, reverse the process and pull from the Fade into your mana. Though, please, do not try and attempt such a feat unattended— you might overwhelm yourself and cause injury. I would request to assist you in any extraneous use.”

Why would Solas even try to essentially _grant_ her more power? Naturally she wanted a more stable, less _deadly_ power attached to her arm, and this unpredictable development also meant she’d have more opportunity to change the prophecy of he memory. It highly benefitted her, not him. She did remember him sincere in his desire to save her and extend her life, if not out of his love out of his guilt.“Oh, of course. Though I suppose this could also backfire?”

Solas exuded confidence, “Highly unlikely. I feel confident my my ability to expand the mark though it _will_ feel… intrusive.”

“Oh, what has you so confident?”

“Please, _ma’fenlin,_ trust me on this. It would be hard to explain without getting into technicalities about the behavior of the Fade magic its tied to, which I can demonstrate tonight in the Fade if it really worries you.”

She sighed, “Well, fine, if you are so sure I will trust you on this. You have yet to be wrong on such matters.”

“It should not take long.” He nodded and leaned her back down onto the cot, “Relax, _da’len._ With what you told me I imagine it will… not be unpleasant.”

Solas’ mana slowly poured into her hand, eliciting a gasp from her now quivering lips. As the mana pooled, he willed it to expand, wrapping the pulses around the threads of the mark’s edge. He pulled, unraveled the threads as he also unraveled her— a litany of soft moans pouring from her lips. There was no need for her to hide the affect in front of him, not anymore. She writhed shamelessly, lost in his intrusion. Reaching deeper into the mark, she felt him connect a thread and the raw edges _healed_. “Let go if the need arises, Rosal. I have cast barriers and wards upon the room as well— fear not, no one will know of your undoing.”

A strong hum of magic pulsed in the air— she could feel it all, feel him, feel herself. _He is also aroused._ Her earlier sadness felt quieted with her curiosity and eagerness to feel more of him. Surely Solas could feel her as well. His eyes widened and locked with hers and lips parted at the empathetic pulse, voice quivering as he maintained the pace, “This is… a momentary nullification of the veil? This… effect…ah…it’s very curious and the implications are….”

The implications could possibly change a great many things.

He groaned loudly— he could feel her so intensely, it was not just the facsimile or projection he felt before. Now was so real _._ He could feel her arousal alongside his own, feel the pleasure of the magic, feel the comfort and contrasting uneasiness with the situation, and even the damped sadness below. Not since before the veil had he felt such fluidity of emotions, such sharing of sensation. His own curiosity, amazement, and affection poured into the mark along with his magic.

As her eyes met his in acknowledgment, she gasped and smiled, squeezing his hand. Her voice was shaky and pure amazement flooded their connection, “Is… that… you?” 

He nodded silently. Solas felt love in response. _Her love._ Love he’d caught glimpses of before, and so desperately wanted to return in one way or another. Be it as the love of his kin he missed so dearly, that he left behind in Arlathan, or the passionate throes of love he’d lived many eons without. It was too much; he was rapidly losing focus. Nearly done forging the connection, Solas hunched over her form, head bowed low and eyes tightly shut as he concentrated. His own affection fluttered back at her, as well as hope and the very edge of his quiet loneliness.

“Solas…I…I…” She mewed, squeezing her thighs together as he finished forming the connection. The Fade felt real at her fingertips as it swelled and pulsed a pure rush of magic right to her… _Fuck._

He could feel her release, a feeling almost indistinguishable from his own cresting pleasure as a wave of her scent hit his nose and her cries flooded his ears. The waves of magical energies softened and calmed; her breathing evened and a playful grin met him as he opened his eyes. Solas internally cursed himself— he really had to stop finding excuses to stimulate her in such a manner, if he was ever going to distance himself emotionally from her girlish affections. _Old, lonely fool._

Rosal practically bubbled, feeling quite satisfied with the normally reserved elf’s emotional flooding, “It worked! I can tell it worked, I can _feel_ it worked. That was… _amazing._ How wonderful! Can we do it again?”

He barked a laugh loudly, still buzzing with a playful happiness she had shared through their connection, “Ah, you’ll need to give me some time, _da’len_ , I am still recovering. Not all of us are in the throes of our youth.”

“Oh! Oh,” She flushed and glanced at his trousers, then at her own, “So you felt _that_ as well. Will this happen every time I use the mark now? This connection.”

Though she wasn’t _trying_ to get him off, it was a bit satisfying to know she did.

His magic instantly absolved the physical remnants of their connection in a cool wave of his hand, “I doubt it is involuntary; such a connection must be instigated by one or both parties. It would be rather inconvenient and certainly unpredictable if it was involuntary, even though it’s _not unpleasant._ ”

Squeezing his hand, still in hers, she met his eyes, “Not a bit.”

He looked scrupulously at her hand, “How do you feel otherwise? Has the baseline changed?”

“When I concentrate on the mark it feels a bit like I’m floating— but otherwise it feels _right_ , like this is what the mark was supposed to be? It’s hard to describe. It’s _pure feeling_ now and still no pain. There’s no longer distance between myself and the Fade— it’’s right there, under my fingertips. I think this will make closing the rifts easier but we will know for sure tomorrow. I feel you were right again, Solas.”

He grinned with that certain smugness, “Yes, I will be interested in seeing the _practical_ result, after which we can discuss further uses for the increased and stabilized connection. Please let me handle communicating the issue to Cassandra— she might not like that we have essentially altered the mark.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. As long as it still closes the Breech, I doubt she will care what we do with it? Especially if it is essentially _an improvement.”_

 

 

After dinner, Solas cornered Cassandra and brought up the issue. While she was not happy being left out of the discussion before they made the alteration, she indeed did not contest the usefulness and trusted Solas’ decisions in general. Rosal was simply glad he did not mention the _physical_ affects and stuck to the _practical_.

Despite the stabilization of her mark and her mood, Solas still insisted on ‘putting her to bed’ that night using a controlled magical state, insisting that the change in the mark provided further reasons to monitor her entry into the Fade. He carefully pushed her beyond the threshold of sleep and into the Fade, watching tenderly as her features relaxed and the tension of the day dissipate before slinking into his own bedroll and joining her.

It had been easy before to find her in the Fade: her hand was a bright beacon, a pulsating star. It was more so now since the Fade had begun to twirl and dance around her vividly in every color of the spectrum. Tonight their dream would be more practical and a safe space for understanding the changes to the mark. There were limitations of using the mark in dreams, but the modeling would allow her more confidence during waking.

So far, there was one very surprising feature standing out, “You can guide the energy of the Fade to one particular spot in your body?”

She gathered the Fade energy to her palm, swirling tendrils of light, “It’s like I can create an internal conduit at will, even away from my hand. It’s no longer bound to my left palm. The amazing traveling mark…. woah, now it’s on my foot!”

Her foot now shone with the same intensity, “This is a lot more inconvenient, though, it’s not like I’m very good at hand stands. I think I’ll stick with the leftie for basic rift closure. Though closing a rift with a tit might be amusing…”

Solas shook his head, laughing softly, “It might be prudent to avoid such a display, _da’len,_ as entertaining as such a thought is.”

She frowned, “So far this enhancement is nothing more than a parlor trick, though… a bit useless.”

“I have faith you will find many new uses, _da’len_. We have only just begun testing its limits. Try picturing _the ends_ and allow the mark to provide _the means_. Don’t fixate on solutions to problems you have yet to name— what is a common problem you find in battle?”

She thought of her last fight, and having to rely on Solas’ ability with a staff blade to save her from severe injury, or worse. “I fixate on an enemy and leave myself open for attack from behind.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked backwards on his feet, a small smile of approval on his face, “Yes, precisely. And what might mitigate that problem?”

“A shield, or defense from the backside. Often this is accomplished with teamwork but… sometimes I get stranded or a terror will waltz in from behind, or a Templar with sharp pointy objects…”

He nodded, “So try and use the mark to maintain defense, in whatever means you would think affective.”

Rosal hummed, “Can’t I do that with my own magic— like a barrier?”

“Yes, but your mana reserve is limited and it only lasts so long. Remember, this is about making use of your special link to the Fade, which is unique in that its only limited by your willpower, not your stamina.”

“Oh. Of course. So make a barrier but with the mark?” That seemed doable. A small voice inside her whispered _aegis of the rift_ and the idea clicked _._

“Yes, something similar, but instead of skin tight as a normal barrier, why not prevent them from getting close enough to even strike?”

_You’ve obviously done this before, my Old Wolf. I have also, in a way._

_“_ Alright, I’ll try… _”_ Rosal concentrated her will, picturing in her mind a dome forming around her and deflecting errant rays of Fade. The image she pictured slowly appeared around her, then she felt her mark jump and surge to craft a hazy, golden shield.

Solas looked surprised— delighted even, “Well done, _da’len._ ”

_Wait, hadn’t it also been an offensive shield?_

“I think I can… make it erupt as well?” Rosal remembered clearly the image, the flashes of energy bursting from the shield. Her barrier rippled and shot out bullets of Fade energy violently, which Solas easily deflected.

He _beamed_ her. He was _proud._

“Yes, _wonderfully done._ ”

And for the rest of the night, giving him that feeling was all Rosal could care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I swear to the Gods_ this woman spends more time horizontal than the horizon.
> 
> Also, my current trashcan is labeled "Daddy Issues" so, yeah, gonna be in here festering for a while and finding ways to fetishize myself clean.


	11. The Calm Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes before Val Royeaux.

“Herald! Are you alright?” Cassandra called to her with a worried pitch, and approached Rosal, who’d fallen to her ass after closing the giant, menacing rift near the waterfall. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes closed.

“I’m good, I just need a minute…” _Shit, that was awesome._ The rift had its usual affects, yes, but now she bursted with energy as a result of the interaction. She felt giddy, even.

Solas was smirking, eyebrow raised, understanding full well it was not debilitating pain. He smirked knowingly, “Do you need a break? Shall I carry you back to camp?”

“ _Again_.” Varric added.

Rosal murmured in Elvhen, “ _I’m fine, thanks.” Smartass._ She moved to her feet, dusting off her rear and sighing. “Onto the wolf pack.”

It was unfortunate the wolves had to die, but they were too far gone— eyes glowing and mouths frothing. If she didn’t know better, she’d assume they were rabid. True to her memory, the slain demon dropped an odd amulet, “What is this? Is this what the demon was using to control the wolves? Where would it get such a thing…that it even exists is fascinating.”

“An amulet designed to control wolves? Enchanters come up with the weirdest shit. I guess it’s useful if you’re wandering through the woods alone.” Varric shook his head.

Cassandra was rooting through some chests left by the previous _human_ inhabitants, “It’s oddly specific. It might be useful around here if it still functions. It looks rather tarnished— did the demon break it?”

“It is very old, yes.” Solas pawed over the amulet, studying it closely. “A relic, but still usable. I believe it should still work— the amulet itself was not altered by the demon, just utilized. Where they found it is… a mystery unto itself.”

“Hmm, alright, want to give it a whirl, Solas? If you wear it and they don’t maul us, we should keep it.” Rosal smiled innocently. There was slight satisfaction in giving him a wolf-mind-controlling amulet. _Pack leader indeed._

He shook his head, biting back a laugh, “I suppose.”

“What’s so funny?” _Keep it smooth. Smooth like… fuck, does Thedas have a concept of peanut butter? I forgot about peanut butter. Fuck, now I want peanut butter._

_Really, da’len, you have no idea._ “You don’t want to try it?”

“I have my own enchanted amulet already,” she batted her eyelashes, “And I already said ‘not it.’”

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, “So you throw me to the wolves, _da’len_.”

“I doubt they would best _you._ ” _Like he can resist a good ego stroke._

He said nothing, but nodded and smiled as he tied the gaudy necklace around his neck.

Varric snickered, “The flashiness of the amulet really complements the ‘hobo apostate’ look, Solas.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking it under his tunic, “Yes, I will agree that whoever designed it had questionable taste.”

Varric grinned, “Yeah, someone has questionable taste alright…”

An hour later, they were back at camp after notifying Mrs. Dennent of the wolves’ fate. A scout stood, missive in hand, which Cassandra snatched quickly. “We must return to Haven, then depart almost immediately for Val Royeaux.”

Rosal frowned, “Wouldn’t it be better to just leave for Val Royeaux immediately? Going to Haven will add at least another two days since we have to head towards Orzammar to pass the mountains. We could just head to Redcliffe and take a ship— much faster than by land.”

“No, there were no specifics but Leliana would not emphasize we return to Haven without reason.” Cassandra shook her head, “She must want an escort. We will have to return to the region to deal wth the apostates’ camp. Do not look so sour— at least we now have much better mounts to aid us.”

There was a collective groan from all but Cassandra. Varric shook his head, “Gee, Seeker, you must really want our asses sore by the time we get to Val Royeaux.”

“Don’t worry, we will ride to Jader and then have another memorable boat ride together, Varric.”

He sighed defeatedly, “Because we had so much fun the first time.”

Rosal grumbled, already protesting the ride, “Seriously, we should be investing in inventing better modes of transportation.”

Solas laughed, but said nothing. In another world, _riding_ to Jader would be barbaric. No, that this should even take more than a few hours would be laughable in Arlathan— not that they were ever in any rush. So unsophisticated, so uncivilized. _I am so sorry, my little wolfling._

 

 

 

A week later, Rosal was collapsing face-down into her own soft bed. It’d been a long, boring day of staring at the back of“It’s been too long, _emma lath_.”

A voice called to her from the door, “I did not think the Dalish fancied such luxuries.”

She lifted her head from the pillow, “No, the Dalish don’t _know_ of such luxuries, and if they did surely they’d feel more motivated to fight for them. Hello, Solas. Need something?”

He smiled and let himself in, closing the door behind him and gliding to the edge of the bed. He sat down and placed an affectionate hand on hers, “I thought we could expand on your learnings in comfort while this rare opportunity is available.”

Rosal turned her head back to her pillow and groaned loudly. _Fuck, don’t I deserve any breaks?_

He hummed, _“_ No?”

She sighed and rolled over, pouting, “We just got back, Solas…and I am tired.”

Solas clicked his tongue against his cheek, eyebrows raised, “It is still early in the day, _da’len._ We rode half a day this morning and have a rare afternoon to ourselves. Tomorrow we leave for Jaded and I am quite sure Cassandra requested your presence tonight in the Chantry.”

He paused, thoughtfully, “It would do you well to show a little initiative on the matter as well— your reluctance the past week was noticeable.”

She flushed at the admonishment, eyes dropping from his, “I’m sorry, _hah’ren_. I really don’t have an excuse.”

“Something is bothering you, _ma’fen’lin_ ,” he stated, voice turning softer, “Would you like to talk about it?”

She shifted and rolled her back to Solas. In truth, the past week was tiring for her due to the invasive feeling of dread during both her waking and dreaming life. Rosal knew what was coming in Val Royeaux; the Lord Seeker—no— the envy demon and the Chantry sisters. New friends, and an invitation to Redcliffe she intended to accept. Flashes of her memories awoke constantly, reeling behind her eyes in bursts. Did she really have to pick one, was there no way to save both the Templars and the Mages? To deviate too much would have unintended consequences, Wisdom had suggested, and ran up the possibility of driving away Solas too soon. He was the real issue, not the lives of these people, which were small matters compared to the fate of the world. Still, though Wisdom warned her to keep closer to _Ellana’s Truth_ , she wished to blaze her own path. Would it really be so awful to save the Templars from the Lord Seeker? Admittedly, she felt stressed knowing everything after that point would be _new_. She would have little in the way of a reference point, and the paradox she created in changing the events knowing another path was no small thing either.

Solas brushed the hair from the side of her face, snapping her out of her trance, a trance he had previously noticed removing her from conversations. She wasn’t _there_ , “ _Where do you go, Rosal_?”

“Well, I…” she swallowed hard, “I just have a bad feeling that’s all. About Val Royeaux, and approaching the Chantry.”

_No, da’len, there is something you are not telling me. It is apparent you are withholding something—you are a few thousand years too young to lie to me. “_ Is that all? A bad feeling? Your disengagement suggests you feel more than bad, _da’len_. You are wrecked with feelings beyond vague anxiety, Rosal. You fear something very specific.”

His tone, bordering on suspicion, did not go unnoticed. Rosal felt the panic rise like bile from her stomach, “No, no… you misunderstand me, it’s… I know, somewhere in me, I know something will happen _._ ” _Out with it, “_ Though I do not really understand what. My whole life, my _hunches_ are always correct, you know? People think I’m nuts when I say that but, _I knew_ something was about to happen at the Conclave, though I did not know what. I knew I had to say goodbye to… goodbye to _my friend_. I knew something horrible was lurking, right around the corner. Something will happen, something different, in Val Royeaux and then we must choose who to save. Both are in peril. The mages and Templars both will be changed when we meet them there.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, “The mages? Why do you think the mages are in Val Royeaux? There is a great danger for them there, so close to the Templar Order. Leliana’s scouts have sent no correspondence detailing mages in Val Royeaux.”

_Oh fuck, I am not supposed to know that._ It was so hard to distinguish anymore what was really happening and what was _the memory_ of what was happening.

_You’ve made a mistake, and now he’ll pin you down with his claws and devour you whole, fool, if you don’t talk your way out of it._

Panic played on her face, slipping in and out of Elvhen, “ _I don’t know!_ It’s… it _will_ be true. _I have a feeling!_ And the Lord Seeker _… he will be there too, but different and not himself._ ”

“ _Da’len.”_ He pulled her up off the bed to sit, and met her eyes with a certain fiery intensity as the lyrical hymn of his perfect Elvhen slipped effortlessly off his lips, “ _If what you say is true, that is…_ _there is a heavy implication, Rosal._ _I suggest you keep this between us and please… if anymore of these feelings arise, let me know. To keep such a thing inside and to yourself will cause you great pain._ ”

Rosal nodded, eyes entranced and mind quieted of its anxiety. There was a certain kind of magic in his gaze, a kind that could either sooth or destroy— an unspoken dominance that demanded her submission.Solas could ask anything of her right now, demand any answer, and she would comply willingly. Her body, mind, soul were all carefully encircled in his arms.

He pulled her into his embrace with a certain sweetness, strong firm hand low on her back,“We will see in Val Royeaux if what you fear has come to pass. If it not simply your fear then… _there will be more to discuss._ ”

“ _Oh._ ” Rosal buried her face in his tunic and inhaled, unwilling to give up the comfort the moment provided. _Sandalwood and elfroot._ She wished he would touch her, hold her, kiss her— take her. She could hear his heart beat, a steady drum, hum in his chest with a mighty mallet. She felt so small to him, so _easy_. _Fool, fool, fool._

“Ah, it is hard for me _not_ to spoil you,” he chuckled, combing his fingers through her long, wavy hair, “When you are so sweet, _ma’fenlin—_ So obvious and honest in your emotions. However, if you are feeling better now I still suggest we revisit the issue of your mark…I cannot continue to selfishly overindulge you, despite my own… _desires.”_

She shivered at the word, heat spreading on her face. _Ignore it._ “What did you have in mind?”

He shifted her on his lap, one hand now idly tugging out knots in her tresses while the other was still firmly planted on her lower back,“I am curious to see if you could create an area of affect for all magic users by manipulating the veil with the mark. What you did that last time— the nullification— could be use to create a bubble of access to the Fade. The trick will be limiting this access to specific members in our party and excluding enemy forces. I theorize this could be done with will alone.”

Such fawning was a tad embarrassing— she was a grown woman. Rosal was glad for the privacy of her cabin. The last time she was held like this was by Deshanna, and as an actual child. _Are we all children to him?_ In the back of her mind, Wisdom’s advice still echoed: _allow him this. He is a very lonely man._ It was true she did not understand what made the man, what history he modeled his relationships and understanding upon. He was an Elvhen man at heart— and perhaps this was normal for the Ancient Elves. _They must have been more bonded than we can imagine— in all kinds of uncommon relationships. Ignore your silly misinterpretation._ “I understand the concept but I do not remember why or how that affect even happened.”

He hummed thoughtfully, “Yes, it was not your intent before but by recrea—“

A knock, and the door opened as the rich, deep voice of the Inquisition Commander called out to Rosal, “Herald, If you ha—“

Cullen’s eyes locked with Solas’ from across the room, then drew a line between the girl snuggly seated on his lap then to the bed before a red stain covered his face. “Oh! Oh. Ahem, I am _so, so sorry…_ ”

Solas’ hands maintained its firm hold on Rosal’s body as she tried to make herself disappear against him. Sensing her discomfort added to his own general displeasure with being intruded upon— the man hadn’t even given her a chance to answer. What if she’d been unclothed, or having a more _personal_ moment? Not to say this moment was not personal. Whenever the topic of her and Solas’ _intimacy_ arose in conversation, Rosal became upset and defensive. Solas never granted them an explanation, either, as there was no real need for them to explain.

Rosal buried even further into Solas’ tunic. _Make him go away make him go away make him go away…._

“Commander,” Solas’ tone was curt and his eyes met Cullens’ without any lingering discomfort, merely agitation, “Can we help you?”

He cleared his throat again, and tore his eyes away as if he was witnessing something lewd. Despite its innocence, Cullen could not help but feel he’d intruded on an intensely private moment between two, _between two—_ well, _whatever_ they were. Cullen’s hand met the back of his neck and he fiddled with the hem of his coat as his eyes darted around the room, “I, uh, wanted to see if the Herald was unoccupied before the later meeting but— ahem— it seems she is so I will… let myself out.”

“That would be for the best, Commander. We are having a private conversation, so please. Do try to wait for permission before barging into someone’s personal abode, yes?”

 

 

Cassandra’s eyes followed the Commander blustering by a scout trying to garner his attention; Cullen looked particularly inside his head. brows knit and eyes turned downward at his feet. She approached from behind, the disengaged man not noting her obvious footsteps, and cleared her throat, “Commander Cullen.”

He visibly jumped a smidgen, “Oh, ah, Cassandra— can I help you?”

“What has you so distracted? You nearly ran over Jim.” The Seeker ducked slightly to enter the open-ended tent.

He brusquely faced her, “How would describe it? I mean, how would you describe their relationship?”

She shook her head, “Who’s relationship, Cullen?”

His voice dropped slightly. “Well that— of course, the Herald’s and Solas’ relationship, I mean.”

Cassandra’s expression faltered at the unforeseen remark, “There’s is… a bit unusual, yes, and I don’t think they regard each other the same. As in, I believe she cares for him as a woman but…Why are we talking about this, Cullen? What gave you this idea?”

“I figured since you’ve spent considerably more time around them, you might be able to make sense of it. I do not have much… experience in _romantic entanglements_ of any sorts.” Cullen shifted awkwardly on his feet.

She sighed, “No. And you did not answer my question.”

“I entered Rosal’s cabin and I saw… something….” Cullen’s voice trailed off as he tried to search for the most apt description of the scene, leaving an awkward note hanging slightly in the air that was open for interpretation.

Her mouth dropped slightly and curved at the corners, eyes a burst of excitement and voice hurried, “You mean she— they were…! If that is the case then you _know_ what their relationship is li—”

Cullen cut her off, “No, no! Nothing like that, Maker’s breath!”

A slightly annoyed look replaced the scandalized one, “What, then?”

He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, and rubbed the back of his neck, “It was a bit peculiar, yes? Well, he _was_ holding her against his chest but they weren’t _you know…”_

“I most certainly do not.”

“Oh, for the love of— don’t make me spell it out. Their clothes were on! He was just holding her, and talking.”

_“And?”_

“No, that was all. “

She sighed breathily, “That is nice, isn’t it? I am glad they have each other; that is not the first time, either.”

Cullen was having difficulties wrapping his head around such a relationship, “This— that is a _normal_ thing? And they’re not _intimate?_ ”

“Not everything between a man and a woman is black and white, _Cullen._ Obviously they care a great deal what the other has to say. They have bonded quickly, but I am not too surprised, as she is obviously someone who does poorly alone. Solas minds her in the field as well as off— which is good, because she needs it and he seems to relish managing her. I admit, it would be a lot harder to console her moods in the past few weeks without him and I would probably have given up on her training. I haven’t the patience. You really can’t leave her alone— she’ll get herself killed.”

“Is it truly that bad?”

“You read the reports, did you not? First sign of trouble and she froze and was smited by a rouge Templar. Out for almost a full day. Second altercation she spent at least an hour in shock after a man died in front of her. Though, she did manage to fight through most of the combatants rushing at her and defended us from range attacks better than I anticipated. She could be fine— the skill _could be_ there— but her constant fretting does her no good preparing herself for confrontation. Only Solas seems to have any weight to provide her balance.”

He shook his head, “I’m surprised she lived in the woods all those years and didn’t get mauled by a bear.”

Cassandra met his eyes, “I am curious, Commander. What do _you_ think?”

“Me? Why does it matter what I think? If you must know I think he’s being inappropriate— she’s a beautiful young woman, it’s his responsibility as a man to lead in any sort of relationship.”

“Responsibility for what?” Her voice held agitation in repose— anticipating his response. 

His cheeks colored, “Keep his distance! Unless he is serious. He is taking precious time from her.“

Cassandra scoffed, “You think a woman cannot make her own decisions? That a woman must rely on the man to guard her heart? And why are you always so distrusting of Solas; is it that he is an apostate?”

“No! No. No, I don’t _care_ that he is an apostate— well,more than I care about _any_ apostate wandering around unguarded. It’s just that…” he looked away, once again losing his words.

Cassandra’s eyes lit up, “ _Commander!_ You are _jealous!_ ”

Cullen’s jaw dropped for a long pause, “I-uh, no, no I am concerned. She is so innocent, you see, and reminds me of my sister…” A red tint to his cheeks sparked again, “And I wouldn’t want _her_ led on in such a manner…”

“You haven’t seen your sister in years, Cullen.” Cassandra smirked and lifted an eyebrow, “I do not buy it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my rambunctious rhubarbs. I finished moving, learned hell is an apartment full of IKEA furniture and no instructions, and got a new job.
> 
> THINGS ARE HAPPENING.
> 
> More updates soon, as well as more of my other story. Weee~ life is changing fast.


	12. Various indecencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val Royeaux, before and after the Chantry. Also, Sera. Also, fruits.

_One is free for a time on a boat._

“When we arrive, there will be no time to stop. We must move immediately towards Val Royeaux to meet the Chantry.”

_Nowhere to be, nothing to decide._

“If we are lucky, and inland weather permitting, we should get there by noon. At least the turbulence stopped enough for us to rest a bit last night. Did you sleep well, Herald?”

_See, it’s all been decided for you._

“Herald?”

_By water._

Cassandra turned her abruptly from her position of leaning over the railing, “Rosal! Are you sleeping with your eyes open?”

_Try to move this way, float that way instead. Cut the difference._

“Oh—yes?” She blinked in rapid succession, haze finally leaving her senses.

Cassandra scoffed indigently, “Apparently so. You heard nothing I said.“

Rosal frowned, then turned back towards the ocean, “Sometimes you say things that sound like words, and I know they are words, but I instead have momentarily forgotten these words have meaning. Words like ‘boat’ and ‘turbulence.’ Or even whole phrase— like ‘inland weather permitting.’”

“I’m glad you consider what I have to say with such reverence.”

“Oh, a seagull or eight. Are we near land?”

Cassandra shook her head in mild disbelief, “That is what I have been telling you for at least… well, since I started _talking at you_.”

“It’s a shame we have to leave the boat.” _I fucking don’t want to do this._

Solas approached them from behind and leaned beside Rosal against the deck railing, handing her an apple, “Have you developed an affinity for sea travel?”

Varric flanked him, “You would like something this awful. I watched you eat snail eggs off a fancy looking leaf _willingly_.”

Rosal laughed, “Josephine said they were delicacies and I don’t knock anything till I try it. Besides, I grew up in the woods and a few other places… and the Dalish eat weirder things than some snail eggs.”

Varric shook his head, “Do I even want to know?”

“Well, you could just ask instead of filling in the blank with some wild ideation of what us _heathens_ eat.” She took a healthy bite of the red apple, its juices dribbling down her chin.

Cassandra shot Varric her best ‘eyes of judgement,’ “He will embellish whatever you say, regardless of your admission.”

Ignoring her prod, Varric pressed on, “Well then, what’s more disgusting than snail eggs on a fancy piece of spinach?”

_Oh he’s going to vomit at this._

“Sometimes, we would kill to much in a hunt…” Rosal smirked and paused.

“Yeah, OK.”

“And knowing that winter is harder to kill game from, we would work to preserve the meat.”

“So some kind of jerky? That’s not weird, kid. We eat that on the road all the time.”

“No, no. _There are other ways.”_ Rosal rocked on her feet, “More complex and odious ways.”

Solas suddenly made a look of disgust, “You mean…”

Rosal grinned and her eyes sparked, “I suppose you’ve _seen this in the Fade?_ ”

Solas nodded, “This is… yes, this is truly… a _filthy_ manner of food preservation. But continue anyway for the sake of Varric’s curiosities.”

“Alright, well we would take the larger animal— usually a ram or if we were lucky, an elk or a once even a bear, and cut it open and remove its entrails. But we wouldn’t skin it. Then we would take the small animals like nugs and well… mostly nugs, and then fill the body of the animal where the organs were with the small animals. But first we would coat the small animals in a weird herby salt brine business the old ladies of the clan would mix up. Smelled like old pickles. And the small animals were whole, by the way.”

“Ok…” Varric made a skeptical look, “When does it get disgusting? Right now it’s just complicated and doesn’t seem to involve much preservation.”

“Well, then we would sew the big animal up and coat it in oil and bury it in a certain kind of earth near the high points of mountains or when the ground started to freeze.”

Varric shook his head, “Wait— wait— I thought this was food?”

“Yeah, it is.A few months later, in winter, we would dig it up and cut the big animal open and take out the nugs and eat them when it was real ripe.”

Silence.

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Andraste’s ass that’s….I’m going to be sick.” Varric looked rather piqued.

“Don’t you want to know what the flavor was like? See, it’s really _potent_ and kind of smells like a weird vinegary, acerbic mix. After you get past the smell it’s actually not bad. Very sour but the richness and layers of tangy, meaty flavor are really good on any kind of toast and you can smash it up it and make a paste—“

“Stop, just stop.” Varric was hunched over. “Yes, I get it, you’re foul. Who would even think to— who came up with that idea? _Putrified_ nug.”

Solas raised his eyebrows, “Do the Dalish have a name for the dish?”

“ _Shan’ghial’dil_ ”

“Well. How… literal.”

Varric snorted, “Does that mean ‘rotten corpse meat?”

Rosal sighed, “No, Varric. It means ‘aged oil meat.’ You will eat anything if you’re hungry enough. And we do not waste anything. It’s really not that bad! I could show you— I wonder if I could make some with the—”

Cassandra rubbed her forehead, “If you make this horror in Haven I will throw you back in the cells.”

“Listen, have you guys ever actually been hungry? Like _real_ ‘I consistently eat one small meal a day’ hunger.” She frowned, expression turning from amusement to a more solemn, somber look, “Not everyone is born a _princess_. You do what you can to survive and store caches of food. When you’re moving around all the time you have limited storage options and by the time you get back to where you scoped out for the winter, your limited dry storage is mostly maxed and you have about a months worth of hunting before they migrate. I don’t expect any of you to understand but you have no place to judge us either.”

After a long silence, Varric added (along with rather descriptive hand gestures), “But you’re not… I mean this in a _kind_ way— you’re not stick skinny like the other Dalish I’ve met. Rather a _healthy_ look to you even.”

Rosal squinted at him, crossing her arms to emphasize her healthy _hand gestures_ , “ _Thanks for the input,_ Varric _._ We became pretty clever after a few years, but we weren’t always so up on resources and hands to hunt. Deshanna became Keeper suddenly— she was from another clan— and was not as experienced in managing the day to day, as her clan was very different in organization. None of our magic users were old enough to be Keeper when ours passed. I was pretty puny until I was 9 or 10; the lack of proper nutrition also meant our clan members got sick a lot. The Keeper was desperate and stalked out other clans for advice after three of our hunters died one winter from over exertion. We were so desperate we ate half our halla. Thankfully, the other clans were friendly and able to help us.”

Varric stared out at the approaching shore, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck is right. The pain of eating your own halla is…I mean, I was so young I didn’t really understand but all the adults were not the same. There was a lot of praying, and begging the Gods and the like. Everyone assumes you learn to ‘live off the land’ but survival is difficult and any small tip in your balance one way or another can kill you. There’s a reason not everyone is a nomad and civilization mostly happens in _one place or maybe a few_.”

A touch of sadness leaked through Solas’ careful, unmoving facade, “No, the People were never meant to live like that, _da’len._ ”

 

 

The scout that had greeted them at the gates had not lied about the sheer number of clerics and Templars roaming the city, awaiting their arrival. Varric groaned, eyeing the gathering crowd of Orlesians around the handful of Chantry clerks awaiting them, “Well, this looks like shit.”

Cassandra nodded, “You and Solas stay here, the Herald and I will approach. All four of us together might seem too threatening.”

Solas eyed the crowed street then glanced back at Rosal, catching her panicked eyes, “If things escalate do not hesitate to fall back. I will… we will be nearby.”

The walk to the platform was as she remembered, as was the punch to the Chantry sister’s face and the impromptu declaration of vast superiority by the ‘Lord Seeker.’ Once again, no bargaining could touch the envy demon parading as the Lord Seeker. Sir Baris’ eyes were pleading, begging as they walked away—he knew something was terribly wrong with the Lord Seeker, and the others blindly following him. There was an awful weight in his gaze as the Templars exited from the platform, and Val Royeaux.

The Lord Seeker spoke the same words of the strange prophecy, “Templars— Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

Varric approached first, “Charming fellow, isn’t he?”

Cassandra’s eyes glazed as she watched them march, “Has Lord Seeker Lucious gone mad?”

Rosal’s voice shook a pained whisper, “How well do you know him, Cassandra?”

Solas moved beside her, grim expression upon his brow. So far, what she said in her cabin was playing true. There was something amiss with the man, and a certain energy radiated subtly from his aura if one had the gumption to concentrate. Though he was unsure still if he was possessed, or a demon, he did concede privately there was more than just the Lord Seeker speaking. He remained silent, instead choosing to comfort her with a subtle squeeze of the hand.

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition or grandstanding. This is very bizarre.”

_Do I dare disturb the universe?_

Rosal paused thoughtfully, “So there might be something legitimately wrong with him?”

Cassandra’s brow knit into a furrow, “…Yes, possibly. It might be worth investigating. I will let Leliana’s people know to investigate.”

Rosal breathed a sigh, then thought carefully how to word what she was about to suggest without giving her insight away. Suspicion would not help her here, “What about the Templar who was doubting? Can we reach out to him and see if he will gather any fellow dissenters? I don’t want to forgoe the mages but, if we can convince even a few we might learn what is afflicting the organization, or why this has come to pass. Plus, more help is better, no? We are also supposed to be thinking of ways to make allies. Leliana called us in specifically to furnish us with a list of potential supporters Josephine had drawn up.”

Cassandra crossed her arms firmly, “We best not act here, or now. We do not have the reinforcements. If we are to approach them it will be after careful correspondence, Herald, not on a vague suspicion or whip .”

“Why not? Leliana is also hiding scouts all over this city— it isn’t as if we don’t have backup.” She was pacing a bit, hands gripping anxiously at the hem of her tunic.

“ _Da’len,_ I think we should wait and let it rest for now,” Solas’ eyes brooded darkly, “Putting you in danger is a greater risk— one I would be unwilling to take. Please, Cassandra is right. We also have yet to consult the mages”

An arrow whizzed by Rosal’s face, causing Cassandra to jump for her sword and Solas to snap her firmly against his chest, his instinctual reaction kicking in as a barrier erected over the lot of them. Varric grabbed for Bianca, “What was that!”

 _Oh shit, I forgot about…_ ”A letter? It’s not an attack, guys… it’s a sort of, er, scavenger hunt if you will.”

Cassandra scoffed, “We do not have time for such frivolities.”

 _Sera!_ Rosal’s face lit with a flush, “I think we best check it out, I have a feeling it could be someone trying to help us! The message is friendly enough.”

Varric laughed and looked over the note, “Yeah, if you can read that chicken scratch. I agree, however, it can’t hurt to check it out?”

“It could be a trap!” Cassandra snatched the note from Varric.

Rosal hummed, “Oh, it’s probably a trap. But a good one, yeah?”

Shaking his head, Solas sighed, still protectively hovering, “Let us find these other ‘clues’ and see where to go from there. We are missing information, thus it is hard to make a decision till after we collect what the note suggests.”

As they walked across the market, a very well dressed man approached them holding a missive, “Excuse me, you are the Herald of Andraste, are you not?”

“Er, yes, some call me that.” Rosal shifted awkwardly. _Ah, it’s…_

“I have an invitation for you from the First Enchanter of Montsimmard Vivienne, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais. She would like to invite you to a fête tomorrow evening at the Duke Bastien’s manor.”

 _Vivienne, of course._ She smiled and reached to accept the invitation, “Thank you, sir, we will seriously consider it.”

Cassandra eyed the invitation, nodding firmly, “No, we will be there.”

Rosal bit her lip, suddenly remembering Cassandra and Vivienne shared certain _opinions_ on mages and magic.

“Ah, pardon me Lady Pentaghast, The invitation is for the Herald and the Herald alone. Though, if you wish, I can consult _Madame de Fer_ and express your shared interest in attendance if it pleases you. A _Pentaghast_ might surely be welcome,” he eyed Varric and Solas coldly, “Though it might be wise if your ruffian associates wait elsewhere, as they might feel discomfort around such affluence.”

 _You racist, classist asshole._ Rosal’s eyes glinted and she frowned, voice hitting an equally cold note _,_ “Ah, thank you for your concern about my _ruffian associates_ but I am sure they will feel no discomfort, as they are gentlemen. I would prefer if my _entire_ party were present as they are essential to my personal safety, sir, so please do request invites for the four of us.”

He nodded and then made his leave, the rest of her companions oddly silent, “What? He was being an asshat. Anyway, onward to the _red hunt?_ ”

Solas smirked, “No fear of the Orlesian court, _ma’fenlin?_ ”

“Why? What can they do?” Rosal smiled innocently, knowing the hidden viper pit awaiting her. “Are you suggesting it’s best I hold my tongue when a man is insulting my friends…”

Varric groaned, “More like _what can’t they do_. Just be careful who you insult at this party. Though, it’s probably best we don’t just throw you into the lion’s den, you alone might…”

“…end up eviscerated on the ballroom floor.” Cassandra sighed, shaking her head as they walked towards the cafe mentioned in the note.

“It is not that you should hold your tongue, it is that when and where you chose to use it has greater implications than _in the moment_. Luckily no one was around and he was outnumbered, but you cannot be ignorant of the general attitudes of the Orlesian to nonhumans, _da’len._ It is easy to rouse a crowd of violence with merely words. You alone are different with your mark, but I am sure they will mock and belittle you based on your status as a _elven woman_ … simply not to your face, considering your status within the Inquisition.”Solas bent to pick up the red kerchief and piece of paper, looking it over and handing it to Rosal, “It is another part of a map. I assume when we collect all mentioned in the original note, it will lead us to our final destination or, the writer of the note.”

 _Indeed it will._ “Well, the time is for late tonight. We might as well head to our inn and send word back after we collect the remaining pieces.”

Cassandra nodded, “I agree, let us do so and then return to the gates.”

 

 

“If I might have a moment of your time?” The soft voice of the Grand Enchanter called out to their turned backs.

Cassandra shook her head, “Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Solas’ eyes grew wide. _So it was all true._ The leader of the mage rebellion had waited quietly to approach them after the Templars had left, look of determination plastered across her face. With a hint of admiration and amazement, he stepped closer, “Leader of the Mage Rebellion— is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled _Herald of Andraste_ with my own eyes. If it is help with the Breech you seek, perhaps you shoud look among your fellow mages?”

Rosal met her eyes, “I am surprised to have not seen you at the Conclave.”

Cassandra spoke harshly, “Yes, you were supposed to be, yet somehow you avoided death.”

Enchanter Fiona peered unwaveringly into Cassandra’s eyes, “As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both sent negotiators in our stead incase it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it— I am hoping you won’t let them.”

“So you think the Templars are responsible?” Rosal hummed, feigning curiosity, already knowing well Fiona believed them the guilty party, and already knowing well neither were at fault.

Cassandra scoffed, “Why wouldn’t she?”

Fiona smirked slightly before letting her face settle back into a frown, “Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses; if he seems concerned of them at all. You heard him. You don’t think he wouldn’t happily kill the divine? To turn people against us? So yes, I think he did it. At least more than I think _you_ did it. ”

Rosal’s ears perked, “Are you suggesting the mages are willing to work with the Inquisition to seal the Breech?”

“We are willing to _discuss_ it at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come, meet with the mages. An alliance will help us both, after all. Au revoir, my lady Herald.” She turned and nodded to Rosal before leaving, gait unhurried despite the possibility of lingering Templars.

Cassandra watched her walk away, “We should go get our horses. We can discuss the situation back in Haven.”

“What about the fête tomorrow and the rendezvous tonight north of the city with the Red Jenny?” Rosal frowned.

“We will need to go back to our lodgings first. In the very lease we should attend the fête and attempt to gain support from what is left of the Circle.” Cassandra’s pace was hard for Rosal to keep up with when the warrior walked as if she were running everywhere she went.

“I would like to meet the contact tonight, as well!” She would not miss this opportunity to meet Sera, a face that had recently more clearly unobscured itself in her memories— choppy blond hair and an impish smile. And arrows.

“We have already determined it is a trap.” Cassandra paused and looked Rosal square in the eye.

“Yes, but we can handle it! And if this organization will help us, maybe she— this Red Jenny— just needs help…” She trailed off.

Cassandra looked unmoving on the issue, stance still solid stone against the wisps of Rosal’s breathy argument. Solas stepped beside Rosal, hand on her shoulder, “Perhaps we can check out this lead, Cassandra? If it comforts you, we can bring additional men in the form of Leliana’s scouts. I would also like to see the results of our findings.”

Cassandra sighed, “Fine. But _you_ ,” she motioned to Rosal, “Stay as close to Solas as he sees fit. We are bound to run into assassins or the like in that part of town.”

 

 

“Just say _what!”_

 _“What is the—“_   An arrow shot through the mouthy Orlesian’s chest, knocking him back unmoving on the ground.

Her face contorted into disgust, “Uhg! Squishy one, but you heard me, right? ‘ _Just say what.’_ Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, blah. Obey me— arrow in my face!” She yanked the arrow out of the now dead man, “So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re….aaand you’re an elf. Well. Hope you’re not… _too elfy_. I mean it’s all good innit? The important thing is _you glow._ You’re the Herald thingy!”

“Yeah, a glowing elfy elf— that’s me. You can call me Rosal, though. The whole ‘Herald of Andraste’ thing is a giant pair of pants to fill, and I’d rather not get that big if you catch my meaning.” Rosal grinned, “And who are you? And this guy?”

“You’re funny, yeah? Good on ya, _Rosie_.” Sera grinned and brushed a stray chunk of hair from her face, “And no idea— I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people said the Inquisition should check him out.”

Rosal smiled and cocked her head to the side, “Your people?” She paused, thoughtfully avoiding any comments about _elves_ ,“And you still haven’t given me a name.”

“You know like in the note, the Friends of Red Jenny? I’m one. Name’s Sera— this is cover. Get ‘round it!”

“For what?” Rosal looked around and saw nothing, no one.

“For the reinforcements, of course! Don’t worry— someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches!” Sera giggled maniacally.

Rosal sighed, “Breeches? Why not… take their weapons? Or something they need to, you know, _try and kill us?”_

“Pish-posh, where’s your sense of fun? You’re cute so don’t ruin it with lemons.”

“Lemons?” Rosal asked, slightly confused.

She snickered, winking at Rosal and biting her lip, “Yeah, wrong fruit—with you it’s more like cantaloupe. _Woof._ ”

Varric shook his head, loading Bianca in wait, “Lady, it’s hard to be fun when you’re dead.”

Rosal unhooked her staff, cheeks pink, and turned from Sera to face the entrance. Was she flirting, or just being obscene? Either way it was not the time for this— despite how much cuter Sera was than expected. The freckles, the bright blonde hair and outgoing, wagging tongue— Sera was truly herself, without pretense or deception. No coaxing, no convincing— straight to the point with her intent and what she believes. It would be unfair to call her a straight contrast to Solas, but they were surely more different than alike. She could already sense the tension from Solas as he formed his initial reaction to the woman, his uneasiness spilling over into his subconscious actions as he stepped closer to Rosal taking a more defensive position.

Solas slipped into Elvhen almost as a small slight, sensing it might annoy the new ally, “ _Da’len,_ _sathan, stay close to me and do what you can as support.”_

Rosal nodded and casted barriers over the group preemptively, noting the eye rolling from Sera. _Well, this is gonna be a bowl of peaches._

Clamoring and shouting erupted as a team of pants-less men flooded the courtyard, all brandishing weapons stupidly over their head as if charging into some fierce, meaningful war. Varric cursed loudly and knocked down two in rapid succession.

Sara cackled, expertly loading her bow and striking down one, then reloading at shooting another, “Idiots!”

Soon the courtyard was again cleared, Solas still guarding Rosal with watchful eyes as Sera reproached the group, “Friends really came through with that tip— no breeches!” She cackled to herself, then her face fell a bit more seriously, “So, _Herald of Andraste_ , you’re a strange one. I’d like to join your Inquisition, or whatever yer calling it.”

“Just you? Not your ‘friends’?” Rosal smiled as sweetly as she could muster, ignoring the deeply suspicious elven apostate on the verge of snatching her and running.

“Well, they’ll help and sorts but on their own terms— sticking it to snob nobles and such. S’long as you don’t get too big for yer breeches I can get tips and stuff when needed, you understand? Or should I explain what we’re about?”

Rosal thumbed her chin thoughtfully, “Steal from the rich, give to the poor? Rich assholes abusing little people get their shit handed right back to them when they didn’t expect it?”

“Yeah, you got it! Oh, I like you.” She grinned, “So I’m in, yeah?”

Cassandra cleared her throat and gave Rosal a menacing look.

Rosal promptly ignored it, “Surely we could use you and your friends. Plus arrows.”

Cassandra scoffed and she could feel Solas’ eyes boring into the back of her skull. Varric simply raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Sera cackled, “Great! Get in good before you’re too big to like— that’ll keep yer breeches where they should be. Plus, extra breeches because I have all these…you have merchants that buy that pish, yeah? Anyway, _Haven_ _—_ see ya there, _Herald._ This will be grand!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brownie points for whoever can name the dish Shan’ghial’dil is based on from real-world cuisine. 
> 
> Also, i gave in and got a tumblr because I realized I was bookmarking so many in my browser I might as well have one.
> 
> http://helsabelle.tumblr.com/


	13. Inconsistencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Game doesn’t end when you get home– Rosal’s last night in Val Royeaux ends with an emotional back and forth with Solas.

“Do you remember what we talked about?” Cassandra sighed as a scantily clad Rosal gripped onto a chair in their shared dressing room, allowing her to grip the ties of the bodice and tighten her corset expertly. This was not the airy, comfortable clothes of the Dalish. No, no— this was _awful._ Abusive, even, and they hadn’t gotten to the skirt yet. Apparently wearing courtier wear involved a great deal of layers, and Josephine had thought of everything thus far, from the frilly panties to the outrageous hats.

“Hoh-boy oh boy… _Cassandra I can’t breath!_ I don’t think my organs are supposed to shift like that. _”_ She coughed. _And my tits are practically up to my chin!_

“You are fine,” she deadpanned, “This is what a corset feels like, unfortunately, but Josephine insisted we have such attire on hand incase we were invited to an event— and we _were_ invited, so quit complaining. Now, what did we go over?”

 _“_ Fine, fine. One: I will not knock over expensive vases like I did in the haberdashery as it is unladylike and costs the Inquisition a great deal. Two: I will not roll my eyes at the Orlesian shit heads every time they talk smack about elves.”

Cassandra swatted her barely clothed rear with an open hand, “Herald! You will not call them that either!”

 _Would it be completely inappropriate to ask Cassandra to keep spanking me?_ She sighed wistfully, then continued, “I will not throw my butter knife like a throwing knife— it just rolls off and won’t go through anything, anyway.”

“That is not the reason we discussed.” Cassandra stepped back and flipped her to take a look at the appearance, before sighing and emotionlessly manhandling the corset down completely past her breasts, freeing them with a bounce “I will have to redo this, this corset was not made for such a long torso. Your breasts will not fit into the corset as intended but it should be fine if the dress is tight enough. We just need to get your waist to fit… _foolish Orlesian fashion!_ Anyway, continue.”

Rosal resumed the position against the chair as Cassandra loosened the ties to begin again, “Where in the Void did you learn to wear this stuff, Cassandra? I thought you were born in chainmail. And yeah, elves have long as hell torsos compared to you stubby humans. But these things aren’t made for _elves_ are they?” 

_Princess training!_

“It does not matter— and get that grin off your face!” she blustered, “Your list.”

“Four: shoes are no longer optional. Five: I will pretend to sip my wine, but not actually drink it because I am an uncontainable lush when drunk. Also, poison. Six: I will remember I represent the Inquisition when speaking and restrain myself accordingly.”

“Uhg.” Cassandra finally finished tightening the corset. “Now the skirt. Take off your smalls.”

Rosal casually joked, “My, _my_ Cassandra— so forward.”

She flushed bright red, “No! I mean— I mean you must wear the matching… the matching silk ones or it will bunch and you will be uncomfortable! I would never— I do not act _indecently_ with women!”

Rosal raised her eyebrows, untying her panties and standing completely and unabashedly nude before her, “ _Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”_

As if considering the premise, Cassandra’s wide-eyes flicked right to Rosal’s crotch, then her chest, then to her crotch again before flustering and turning away, “You are making this uncomfortable for me, please put the underwear on and I will help you with the skirt.”

“Cassandra, it was a joke in poor taste… I am sorry.” _Though that was an unexpected reaction featuring a lot of ogling. Felt something, didn’t’chya?_

“It’s… fine.” Cassandra looked pensively out the window.

 _Yeah, she’s way gayer than she accepts— but who isn’t?_   Rosal sighed and slipped the way-too-ornate underwear on along with the first layer of skirts, “Alright, I’m decent now. Frock me.”

 

 

As it turns out, all the ‘rules’ Cassandra had drilled into her head were useful that evening, especially since no additional invitations were sent to her and she would be attending alone. Rosal made sure to nod thoughtfully at every off-color remark instead of throw her mostly-full (she cheated a bit) glass of wine in their face. It took a surprisingly long time— an hour or so— before she even saw _Madame de Fer_. The racist marquis was there, who’s humiliation was ensured by The Ice Queen, whom Rosal begrudgingly recruited. _It’s not that she isn’t useful— it’s that she’s an asshole 98% of the time._

By the time she returned via carriage to the inn (provided by Vivienne herself), only Solas sat awake in wait, obviously fighting sleep from his armchair. “Solas?”

His hooded eyes shot open, “Welcome back, _da’len_. I assume you were successful?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “It seems the Enchanter Vivienne wishes to join our Inquisition and…. I said yes.”

“Ah, well we would do well to garner more mages.” He rubbed his temples, and rose to his feet, eyes finally focusing on her figure standing in the flickering candlelight, “ _You look beautiful._ ”

Rosal flushed and looked away as he drew near and grasped her hand to kiss the back of her knuckles, “Thanks, though I still prefer barefoot and covered in mud to bone stiff corsets and toe-pinching heels.”

Solas chuckled, kissing her forehead and lightly gripping her cinched waist, “Naturally. You are beautiful then, too.”

“Solas, you…” she caught his eye for a moment, then looked again to a window where the night continued beyond the glass.Rosal slipped her hand from his, and moved close to the window, eyes weary and sad. “You can’t say such a thing to me and not hurt me. Or kiss me, anywhere, and not expect me to be confused.”

“Rosal…” He looked taken aback; the interaction had felt so natural for him that he had not thought twice before approaching her. Solas regularly showered her in his affection— small kisses, embraces, reassuring touches. She’d never shirked his affections before; she’d only ever demanded more than he felt he could give.

She shook her head, “No, stop. Just stop. You know I like you, and I depend on you _for so many things_. I… would be a mess at this without your support but…”

“I understand, Rosal, but—” He frowned and shook his head.

She interrupted angrily, “Do you? I mean, do you really?”

He leaned closer, hand again wandering to touch her side in comfort, “What is wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“That!” She shrugged away from his hand, “That is why! You touch me as it pleases you, _please_ me as it pleases you, _take me_ in my dream… but then you deny me respect or reciprocity. You stay up late and greet me like a lover. You fawn over me, call me pet names, _baby_ me incessantly like a child—”

“You _are a_ —“

“Yes, I get it! I’m a child to you, but guess what? _I still have feelings_ , and _sexuality_ even… so…don’t _tease_ me.You either want me as the _woman_ I actually am, or you don’t. This can’t be some weird middle ground to suit you, because you have some strange reservations and can’t let yourself _give in_ to whatever,” she waggled her arms around, “This is right now.”

She huffed, floating in and out of Elvhen, “Mixed signals! _Damn it, Solas, I want to fuck you! Like actually fuck you,_ not just in my dream _. Because I…I…_ ”

_I have never told anyone I loved them before._

_“I think I love you!”_

_Not like this._

_“No, I know I do.”_ She breathed in heavily, “So fuck off if you just want to ignore that part of me because your busy masking and denying your own feelings. I am done denying mine.”

His voice was quiet and and sincere; Rosal had been unaware how loudly she was speaking, _“This is my fault, yes, Rosal.”_

He stepped close to Rosal, hands drawing carefully to frame her arms, expression pained, “I have hurt you, though it was never my intent.”

“Pain often comes from good intentions, Solas. Though I often wonder your intent.” She turned her head away from his piercing gaze, eyes glassy and confused.

_I’m sorry, Wisdom, but I cannot just ‘allow him this.’_

“Rosal, I would not give you a false answer, or even suggest I care for you when I don’t. I have not felt this affection for another in— well, a very long time. Please forgive me if it takes me time to remember just how to feel this way— I have already made many missteps. I thought, perhaps, if I tried to wait and define clearly how to express my affection before I acted I would cut you off completely but, instead, the lack of definition merely lead to misinterpretation. In truth, I should have distanced myself. You want things to be clear cut, but I cannot define my heart so readily. Perhaps this _is_ unwise, _da’fen_ , to go down that particular path, though I so… desperately… want to give into it.”

Her face softened, and form relaxed, “I’m impatient. And childish. I am sorry to push you— please take all the time you need but don’t shut me out completely, Solas. I wouldn’t be able to stand such coldness— not from you.”

_It would kill me._

Her eyes pleaded to him, and she brought her hand to his cheek. He immediately closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, inhaling sharply, “What if I cannot be the man you want me to be, _ma’lath?”_

“There is no particular man I need you to be, Solas, besides yourself.” Rosal sighed. Her heart ached; if anything, worse than before. She’d taken a simple moment and made it sad again. Though certainly it was the shared blame of miscommunication, he still looked at her with such love, such affection, that it felt entirely her fault.

_Why am I so bad at this?_

She glanced sideways to the armchair in which he’d patiently waited, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“I find myself restless if you’re away— it was pointless to try and sleep. I planned to wait outside the event and escort you to the inn, but Cassandra insisted transportation was provided and that scouts were stationed en route.” The annoyance was pronounced on his face; this obviously had been a point of contention in that evenings discussion, “Though I still think it wiser to handle your guard ourselves.”

She smiled, “Such a worrier.”

He did not, “Not without reason. Many wish to see you dead, Rosal, and I would prefer to take your safety seriously. Rather over do it and see you alive, than lax and filled with remorse.”

“You are right,” she sighed, “Of course. Cassandra seems distracted today, or perhaps she would’ve agreed.”

“Yes,” he tilted his head thoughtfully, smirk flashing on his face before falling back to his normal, brooding resting position, “Distracted is one way to describe it. Anyway, we should discuss the events of the past few days before we retire.”

Rosal internally groaned before sitting on the small sofa. _Oh… yay. This will be fun._

Solas hesitated momentarily before she patted the seat next to her, then trepidatiously sat next to her on the couch.

_I feel like a dog trainer. Here boy, good boy…_

“Why are you smiling?” Solas raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she leaned on him, exhaustion apparent, causing him to startle slightly before he sighed with a notable note of relief. Keeping up with her moods was going to age him where time could not. He hesitated heavily again before leaning into the embrace and turning his body slightly to allow her to lay down with her head in his lap. Her eyelids were already drooping.

“Perhaps you are too tired?” He gently started to remove the pins from her hair, letting the trapped trestles of raven hair fall gently back. Her gracefully pointed ears twitched at the tickling.

She murmured sleepily, “No, no, just tell me what you’re thinking. Better now when the others are asleep.”

“Well, firstly.” His hand slipped as she wiggled slightly, causing his hand to grace her sensitive ear. He paused before purposefully tracing its long lines.

“Mhmm” She sighed and flushed.

He cleared his throat, recoiling his hand, “… you were correct about the Lord Seeker. And I attempted to breech the Lord Seeker’s aura and…something is certainly amiss. He is mimicking human aura, not creating it. To even most trained mages or Templars this would be enough to fool them, but anyone attune to the Fade would recognize the pattern. The pattern is that of an Envy demon, which targets and mimics powerful entities in lieu of possessing them.”

_Well, you clever man. Good thing your expertise is the Fade, or else this would be infinitely more complicated for me to finagle._

“Envy demon? Don’t know much about that one.” she feigned a layer of surprise and curiosity underneath her sleepiness, momentarily wondering if the _other_ Solas knew about the envy demon but had chosen to say nothing. Unlikely, but he obviously was able to deduce the truth of the situation with little guidance. “If it was a demon, why not tell Cassandra?”

Solas spoke with confidence, “Because I was not sure until I looked for its presence in the Fade. But now I am positive it is the case.”

“Ah, well. We— you— should mention it? Maybe leave of the weird wobbly premonition feelings I had and just say your Fade senses tingled.” she sighed. “Though we might want to wait until we meet the mages to mention it.”

“Is there a reason you wish to conceal what is obviously a very useful gift from her? I would think at this point you trust her, at least as much as you trust me, with such information.”

“Nope. I don’t. She’ll probably use it as proof I’m some divine whatever it is and the more people that know, the more duplicity people will cry, or the more people will want to kill me… I don’t know, I just rather you know for the reasons we agreed to before.” She pouted, “You gonna tell on me, _hahren?”_

Solas chuckled, “ _No, da’len, it is our secret._ Though I think we should mention it sooner, rather than later. Why wait? Do you fear she will wish to rush in to help the Templars and give no second thought to the mages? _”_

“It’s what she wants anyway,” she mumbled, “You know she’d feel more secure with Templars, but I think the mages are the better choice for many reasons— but we’ve talked about that before.”

He hummed, “I am surprised, _da’len.”_

Rosal rubbed her eyes, “What now?”

“It’s a more manipulative design than I though you capable.”

Yes, today she was full of surprises. Perhaps he was wrong about her— perhaps she was not so easy or simple. Occasionally glints of something else peaked out— be it a peculiar dream, an offside comment, or now her ‘hunches.’ While it was possible, and he was willing to accept, that she had a particularly rare arcane gift that had nearly disappeared over the ages, there were also _other_ explanations.

 _Oh, now I’m the subversive one?_ She huffed, _“_ I am not sure whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“Depends on how you feel about it, as I was attempting neither an insult or flattery. Simply being transparent.”

“I can’t help that I’m normally…. transparent… myself.” she sighed, then rolled her head to peer up at Solas, heavy circles ringing around his tired eyes.

“You were also right about the mages.” Solas stated.

_Are we going to play this game? Yes, I think we will. Fuck it, I’m not going to live more than a few more years anyway, might as well be ‘psychic.’_

“Yes, but something weird is going on there too.” _Time magic, magisters, a devilishly handsome Altus who can probably plait my hair better than any of the maids…_

He lifted an eyebrow, “Why do you reason? There was nothing off about Grand Enchanter Fiona—I checked.”

“Because of course you did, and, I say that because again…”

“Ah, another ‘weird wobbly’ feeling?”

“Yeah, something like that. It’s more murky and wibbly wobbly though, and…” _Oh boy, here we go again,_ “Tevinter-y.”

His eyes darkened at the mention of Tevinter, sending her hairs to their ends. The man could turn menacing with a glance, “Curious. Why would Tevinter be involved?”

“I don’t know?” She tilted her head, “But they are and it makes some sort of sense, somehow. Anyway, we should get to Redcliffe as soon as we can— forego a trip back to Haven if necessary.”

“Is that all?” Solas kept his eyes fixed on her face, “About Redcliffe. Do you dream of this?”

 _Shit, he probably knew real Oracles._ Rosal made a mental note to discuss the subject with Wisdom, “I suppose, but I don’t remember. I wake up and it’s hazy.”

“Hmm, well,” he tilted his head, “I could help with that. It might assist us, in any rate. Such a gift is uncommon and does normally work through dreams, as the connection with the Fade is implicitly tied to what amounts to a kind of time magic in itself.”

 _Well, at least I guessed correctly,_ “Oracles are time magicians?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “In a way, you could say that. Though a true Oracle has not lived in millennia and would be able to direct his or her power and pull detail. Such a skill is developed over centuries and centuries of practice, however, and that would explain why the gift has all but vanished. While you may be precocious in development, I would doubt you will have the time to truly learn to wield such magic. Your mark might be affecting you as well. It is one of the few types of magic you cannot simply choose to learn— Oracles are born and not created. Though such skill was abused in the past, it might be for the best it has weakened immensely. It is not a fair or balanced magic.”

She flopped her head to the other side, allowing him to pick the pins from that side as well, “Oh, so then ancient elves were the only ones who really ever lived long enough to make use of it…if the legends are true.”

He took the hint and rapidly freed her hair from the remainder of their implements, “Yes, and yes. Many accounts of such power exist in the Fade. If you are curious to learn about it I could show you. Though first I would care to observe your dreams, if you’d allow it.”

She flushed, “Uh, oh, would— would you just watch or…?”

He chuckled, “No need to be embarrassed, _da’len._ I won’t intrude if it’s more _intimate_. _”_

 _“Or you could…”_ she mumbled.

“ _What was that, da’len_?” He shook his head, “You are… Rosal, you have a lot of drive, even for your age _._ Is there a moment your mind isn’t fixated on sex? _”_

“I’m just extra healthy! And you _are_ devilishly handsome.” She winked at the hint of red creeping to the tip of his ears, then waggled her hand, “Well, healthy except for this weird thing.”

He pursed his lips then immediately started to examine and manipulate her mark, automatically falling into the clinical pattern she expected when he fixated on it. “Any changes you have felt, or pain since we tied off the ends of the connection?”

“No! None. It’s weird, now I barely notice it unless I want to. And it doesn’t hurt at all. Instead it just feels like an extra pulse. No changes otherwise, though.”

He nodded and murmured with a sigh of relief, “Good. It has not grown, which is good news for your health.”

She tried to hide the sadness and raw fear in her voice, lowering her words to barely a whisper, “Do you still think it’s killing me?”

“Well,” he exhaled, “Such a thing is unprecedented, so it is hard to predict how it will affect you long term. The main threat to you, which was the tearing of the wound that threatened to swallow you, has been quelled _for now._ So I do not see any immediate challenges to your health. As far as the future, or how your body will change, I do not know. I am personally surprised how well you are taking to a direct vein to the Fade and would have expected a mortal body to falter much easier to what amounts to the power of a demigod.”

_Am I hearing things? Did he slip up?_

“Demigod?” she hummed. “Fancy.”

“Do you truly think such a power is mortal? Whatever— or whoever— placed that mark upon your hand is toying with forces beyond normal mortal magic. I have said it before.”

_Oh now I want to fuck with him._

She said assured, _“_ It’s both.”

The dawning, intense look of apprehension peaked out from beneath his mask, “Both what?”

She grinned, “A who and a what. A super powerful being and a super powerful thing.”

His eyes widened, “What makes you think that? Do you remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

_Look on his face is worth the risk. So worth it._

“No, I don’t remember jack shit, but again I feel I know? Maybe I do remember in a weird way, but not because I saw it.”

“Ah,” he relaxed, “As you knew of the Lord Seeker, or the mages.”

“Yeah, but I know he— the voice we heard— was a very powerful mage using something, an artifact, as you postulated before. A sphered-orby puzzle thing. Oh, shit, I don’t know. It glows? Yeah, most certainly glows. Green. Then red. Then green again.” she nodded.

He practically choked on his words, voice taking on a wild note, “You saw it then? You can remember seeing such an artifact?”

“ _No,_ I told you. I am not remembering, it’s just a thing I see.” She sighed, “Though you seem very excited. You did mention you wanted to recover whatever caused the Breech? I am sure it still exists, though I don’t know what state it is in; it could be corrupted, but I don’t think completely so yet.”

“The implications…” Solas shook his head, whole body tense, “It could still be you remembering, _da’len,_ and not a vision _._ Though this is valuable information.”

Solas’ eyes searched her face with a pleading, soft gaze; his hands gently pulled stray hairs from her countenance before gathering her in his arms, “You should sleep.”

Rosal felt she was then the most precious thing in the world, but for reasons she immediately regretted. “I _can_ walk you know, despite the insanely heavy petticoats and myriad of gaudy embellishments. I am not made of glass, Solas.”

He shook his head, ignoring her request, “I will help you undress then assist you to sleep. There is no need for you to tax yourself additionally tonight; tomorrow we will travel a great deal and you haven’t the fortitude or constitution to forge any sleep.”

She grimaced, “Didn’t we just fight about you _not_ doing this?”

He lowered her onto a bed that appeared to be mostly decorative, gaudy pillows and silk throws, “You mean the emotional outburst you had before _completely_ switching your mood? Yes, you did express your displeasure in no uncertain terms about what you deem patronizing and overtly solicitous behaviors on my part. And I chose to deny your request, especially since taking care of you means a great deal to me and I do not think you intended to deny me the manner in which I express my love, no?”

Rosal blinked, flabbergasted. Did he just imply he loved her? _Not that it counts as a confession._ “No…”

“Well,” he started peeling off layers of fabric, and huffed in frustration, voice barely a murmur, “Then don’t complain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a PWP NSFW three chapter one shot for the Cassandra fling. I made it separate because there will be more than enough lady loving in this fic, and it was more something I wrote out of self satisfaction that wasn't completely necessary for the story. Check it out if you have the mind. Spoiler: Rosal has a lot of sex.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the steady return of Rosal's emotional instability. Not that it really went that far away... Cole will be around soon to keep her from catching a venereal disease from a floozy and/or jumping out of the rookery to a messy death on Solas' desk. 
> 
> Tra la la la....


	14. Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ye to the Storm Coast! Rosal considers considering.

In the relatively short time they were away from Haven, an impressive number of new recruits had flooded the training camps and were crowded around various fixtures in the small, isolated town. Most were inspired— righteous, even— by the display in Val Royeaux and the blessed Herald of Andraste’s quick defense of the Chantry. But it was not only believers flooding Haven’s streets— but a great deal of Orlesian elves looking for a new life away from the oppressive atmosphere of the bustling metropolis. What better place than the Inquisition, which had raised one of their own to such a status? Elves everywhere— elves baking bread, elves swinging swords, elves running missives. Some humans were grumbling, but Leliana had made short work of any loud-mouths, being a staunch supporter of _elven rights_ as she referred it. That she had an elven lover was probably not unrelated to this opinion, and she carried a certain older-sister mantel up around Rosal now, fussing over her in small ways and giving unsolicited advice.

Today was such a day, in which, Leliana had planted herself firmly in Rosal’s cabin in a straight-backed wooden chair with her legs crossed, unmoving and waiting for further explanation. She had come under the guise of furthering investigation of the Lord Seeker, but as to why she was really here, it seemed at least partially related to a _certain_ conversation Cassandra had overheard the night before they left Val Royeaux. The topic, of course, was Solas. Their dance had been largely left to play out on its own, with little interference from her advisors. None had bothered to make their opinions known. Leliana was the first, “You are so young, Rosie, I would not want to see you heartbroken over a man probably over twice your age obviously looking for a different relationship than you want. Though, he does care for you, it is not enough is it? This sort of relationship.”

This whole portion of their conversation was unsolicited, yes. Rosal sighed, fidgeting in her seat with discomfort, “I mean, I think he will warm up to me… he’s just scared of letting himself care about someone like that. He’s been alone a long time.”

Leliana sighed, raising her eyebrows, “You are so inexperienced. That statement alone is proof. I was the same way when I was your age, always looking for love but unsure of where and with whom; don’t fret, you will find someone.”

“Leliana, I’m not really— I don’t. I am not looking for a relationship at random, I just wanted it if it was with him. Otherwise… I am not sure it is even a thing I want.”

She laughed, “Well, what about sex?”

Rosal flushed, unable to meet her eyes, “What about it?”

“You don’t need a relationship to have it. You could always just find someone to lay with if that is what is missing from your life. There is plenty of time for relationships later, Rosie. Now is busy anyways.” Leliana smiled and laughed at her sheepish expression, “No? I did not think you prudish. I know many Dalish are very conservative I did not peg you as such.”

“It’s just… I am not sure I am someone who can do that. Casually. Anymore at least, though I guess I could consider it.” She cleared her throat, face suddenly dropping. Rosal looked to her marked hand, rubbing the palm with her other hand’s thumb, “And besides, this might kill me. Even if it doesn’t, perhaps the person who caused it will? I have.. no idea why to expect anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t be with anyone, maybe I should just try to be satisfied in life without such things.”

“Ah.” Leliana’s face dropped slightly, tone softer, “Yes, war makes love different— difficult, strained, and lonely. I know this well, but you cannot stop yourself from living your life because of what _might_ come to pass, dear. And any intimacy will make it at least somewhat easier, I think.”

“What about,” Rosal looked up from her lap, “What about you, Leliana? Isn’t your lover far away? The Warden, I mean.”

“Ah, yes. But we have an arrangement.” She smiled, “So it is not a problem for me. My heart is always hers, and she knows that. What I do in my time while she is away is… up to me.”

“Well, that is… something. I guess it would have to be like that?"

“We came to that conclusion after we’d both exhausted our own wrists waiting for each other’s return, so yes I think so. I haven’t seen her in a long while but she writes me, and I await her. Actually, I haven’t heard from Neria in months, and… I am a bit concerned. I will reach out to her again.” A worried expression plagued Leliana’s face and she stared towards the dimming light filtering through the window.

_Oh no, I made her sad._

Rosal coughed, shifting awkwardly in her seat, “I am sorry if I brought up something that worries you.”

“No, no matter. I am always glad to share.” Leliana flashed her a sweet smile, then clasped Rosal’s fidgeting hand affectionately. “About other maters, Rosie. The mages.”

Rosal nodded, “I think we should approach them, though I know Cassandra and Cullen are quite decided in at least trying to contact the Templars. I know earlier you mentioned still following up on the Lord Seeker, but we cannot wait for that investigation to conclude. It will take too long, and I don’t want to throw myself into a pit of snakes without knowing the details. This is my preference, however. As a mage I might be biased.”

It was true she didn’t know _all_ the details. What she told Solas about the Seeker remained still secret— he was taking his time divulging his findings of the man, wanting to put enough distance so that the mages were the obvious choice. It was a sacrifice, yes, as countless Templar lives were at stake— but so were the mages. Rosal was hoping for a certain way to save them both, but she would have to setting for a _chance_ to save some of the other. Just a chance. It was comparatively better than non-action, but Rosal was not convinced she couldn’t do more even without revealing what she knew to Leliana and the others. Withholding information felt like a small betrayal, yet it was a sacrifice she was willing to take to stay under the radar. Both Wisdom and Solas had separately agreed making her ‘ _powerful intuition_ ’ public could raise not on the ire of her enemies but the suspicion of her allies; any cries of ‘duplicity’ would put them all at risk. Secondly, any more power behind the ‘Herald of Andraste’ myth would also be a headache as well.

“I do not think your preference or even bias is irrelevant— we need you to negotiate and if the Templars exploit your weakness then you shall have less than a full hand, no? It is natural to gravitate towards likeminded and similarly equipped allies. Too much power in one way or the other is bad for diplomacy. Though I doubt the others will see it this way. ” Leliana paused, smilie creeping over her face, “Except, perhaps, Josie.”

Rosal raised an eyebrow, “I thought she was in favor of the Templars?”

“We had a conversation and she seems to understand better our position.”

“Well that’s a fucking relief.”Rosal paused, “At any rate, I’ve done enough moping around. I need to meet with Sera about the Storm Coast.”

“The agent you picked up in Val Royeaux? She is… quite a handful.” Leliana chuckled, raising to her feet, “Though she will be a useful set of hands to have around— quite talented with her bow.”

 

 

 

“You always frown this much?” Sara popped a grape into her mouth, tavern already bustling and loud even early in the evening.

Rosal rubbed her brow, in confusion “I— sorry, I am trying to make sense of what you just said besides a string of words just loosely tied together.”

_This woman is speaking another language. Of this I am sure._

“Wot? What’s so confusing ‘bout what I asked?”

“Perhaps I do not understand the use of— well, the terminology use. What do you mean ‘sword or shield’ type of woman? I am a mage, Sera. I used a _staff._ ”

She shivered, “Uhg, don’t remind me. Your one real bad point so far, besides the lot of frownin’ you do. OK, one of two.”

“Two— what?” Rosal shook her head.

Sera paused, the started laughing wildly, “Staff! You… a staff, oh that’s _brilliant_ and you don’t even know it.”

“No,” she narrowed her eyes. “I do not.”

“What I mean, _Herald,_ is I wanna know which tool ya play with? I have a thing for the soft squishy bits.” She winked, “And you got the soft squishy bits.”

“OH!” Her eyes grew wide, “You’re asking if I like… You are hitting on me.”

“So. Slow. It’s alright, don’t care if you’re lacking between those giant ears of yours.” She snorted, “You’re blushing. S’cute. Don’t normally go for _elves_ , let alone _elfy elves_ , but….”

“I… came here to see if you’d go to the Storm Coast with us, uh, I…we need additional range support, and Varric cannot go because? Because I don’t know, something with contracts or writing serials or, whatever, doesn’t matter. So, I uh, yeah. We’re meeting some people there and— and—”Rosal’s frustration was slipping through, turning her into a flustered mess. Sera was cute— and aggressive. And very _handsy._ When had her hands started crawling across her lap? One was squeezing her thigh.

Sera smirked, inching closer to her turned head, then breathed into her ear, “Yeah, I’ll go. We sharin’ a tent or what, _Herald?”_

_“_ Well, this has been lovely!” Rosal stood up with a start, “I’m… I have to go.”

Sera pouted, and sighed, “Later _Herald._ And yeah, I’ll go to the Stormy place.”

Rosal snagged her glasses off the table, face flushed from a combination of the alcohol and the incessant teasing. She strode over to the counter and nodded to Flissa, sliding the used glasses back over the bar. Flissa frowned and motioned her with a finger to lean in, “ _Herald!_ Be careful with that one.”

“What—? Why are you telling me this.”

“I’d hate to see you heart broken— she’s a terrible flirt.”

“Oh, so, you’re saying don’t take it too personally, right?” She exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “That she’s like this with everyone?”

Flissa nodded, “Well, every _woman_ with a good pair of knockers and vapid look.”

“Vapid…” Rosal sighed, “Really, Flissa?”

Flissa placed a reassuring hand on hers, “I’m not saying you’re vapid, dear, just that she has a _pattern_.”

“She’s been here what, a week?”

Flissa raised her eyebrows, “Exactly. Not judging you or her, just warning you about the fire you’re playing with… if that’s what you want, your business. I run a bar— I’ve seen it all and I hardly care at this point.“

_Not particularly what I want._ Too long passed since she’d thought of Ellana— the longest she’d gone yet. Her death already felt so far away from her yet it had only been a few short months. Their time apart would only grow, as would the spaces between storms of grief. Sorrow overflowing, from time to time, was manageable. The constant storm had passed and Rosal was left in a passable vessel atop an unsteady, ever-changing ocean. Ellana was past, Ellana was gone and never coming back. Ellana, _Ellana_ , it should still have been Ellana yet she would have to be enough. She’d stopped asking herself what Ellana might have done— Ellana was not the one who was making the decisions. The shimmer had long faded, and the momentary blindness to Ellana’s faults that her death had provided was now gone. She was not a perfect person— Ellana was just as flawed as herself.

She wouldn’t have liked Solas.

She wouldn’t have liked Sera.

She would have said they were not really elves, not really of the People, repeating every lie she’d been told.

Ellana was a frivolous person— she did what was easy and what felt good. She wasn’t willing to complicate herself with over ambitious goals or go against any willful person. If she’d been born a mage, surely she’d have been the kind of First the Keeper dreamed of: unquestioning, easy going, and always looking to please. Ready to pass on the _legacy_ of inaction among the Dalish _._ Sure she was a natural leader, and people loved her cheerful attitude and genuine interest in their problems, but what thinking did she do for herself?

_But I think too much, so that’s hardly better._

Neither was ideal overall, but both were applicable in certain situations. Carefully considering every faucet of a problem did take time, but it also often yielded better results. But in the heat of the hunt, where any decision was better than none, certainly _not_ thinking was better than stumbling. Diplomacy versus aggression— the classic debate.

_“_ Excuse me? I’ve got a missive for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”The voice of a young man cut through Rosal’s internal reel.

A name rung in her ear, from someplace else. _Krem._

She turned, “What can I help you with, sir? Who are you?”

“Fucking finally— ahem. Excuse me, but I am Cremisius Aclassi, from the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra. We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander Iron Bull offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”Cremisius smiled broadly, charismatic dimples accenting his face.

“A mercenary company, hmm? Well, we were going to head there anyway, so I will take this information to the rest of the leadership here and we will make a decision, err, Cremisius.” Saying his full name felt awkward.

He laughed, sensing her discomfort, “Krem is fine…”

Rosal nodded, crossing her arms, “Krem.”

His eyes flitted to her hand’s sudden movement, “Wait, is that.. you’re _her_. The survivor… the _Herald._ ”

“Oh?” Rosal momentarily spaced out, forgetting she’d left her cabin without her gloves on, “Oh! Yeah, I guess I am the one with the glowing hand. Word travels quickly, damn.”

He suddenly was unable to meet her eyes, and sheepishly grinned, “I, uh, apologize if I’ve been rude at all, _Your Worship_.”

“Oh don’t give me that shit, too, you’re not even working here!” She sighed, look of exasperation plaguing her face,“Rosal. You can call me Rosal. Not your worship, not your holiness, not… _Herald._ I have a name. Though all the humans keep calling me Rosie…”

_Thanks a lot, Varric._

He laughed lightly, “So that’s how it is, eh?”

She shook her head, “It’s something. Well, Krem, you must be tired— see that tavern over there? Tell the barkeep _Rosie_ sent you and she’ll fix you with something to eat. Thanks for the tip!”

 

Of course, it wasn’t hard to convince any of her advisors to at least _talk_ to the Chargers, especially Cullen, who was frustrated with the lack of _skilled_ troops. There were men, yes, but most were currently warm bodies with pointy metal.

The Storm Coast was _not_ on the way to the Hinterlands, no, but they would not be returning to Haven before pursuing a meeting with the mages. She’d gotten all the advisers to at least hear out the initial talks with the mages while Leliana’s agents pursued the lead on the Lord Seeker.

“The storm really starts far inland here, doesn’t it.” Rosal sighed, pulling her hood further down to shield her eyes. Mostly she felt sorry for the horses.

“Uhg, how the frig did you get me to agree to this sopping mess. You owe me, _Herald._ ” Sera had done little but complain and piss off Solas since the rain set in, the both seeming to be tangentially related to her now sour mood.

Thunder clashed through the air, heavy drops pelting their backs even though the thick traveling gear. Cassandra’s armor rang loudest of all with each drop— _klang, klang, klang._ Cassandra seemed unfazed, “We should stop for the night, this weather is stressful on the animals.”

“Can I be counted in that category?” Rosal shivered, “This is impossible. I know it’s only past midday but 6 hours of this is well enough. There’s a cave up there— let’s make camp.”

Rosal dismounted, and lead her horse to the entrance of the wide overhang. It was not so much a cave as a long jut of rock creating a deep cover. The muck on the horse’s hooves tracked across the still-dry stone, leaving an obvious trail. Soon the animals, and the people, were dry and busy inside. Unsure of what to do with a free afternoon, Rosal undressed in her tent and unfurled her bedroll. She stretched her stiff body, cracking her joints and back with a groan.

“Sore?” A now dry Solas dipped into the tent, soft smile on his lips. He carried his own bedroll and silently stepped towards her to lay it next to hers.

_Well, I guess that answers that question about who I’m sharing with tonight._ Sera in her tent the night before had been a mistake. A loud, snoring mistake. She kicked, mumbled, and snored all night. _She’s louder than Cassandra._

Rosal flushed at the slight intrusion, but did not move to cover her partially clothed self. “Very. This terrain is… less than ideal as far as riding.”

“Yes, truly. It would be easier on a more _graceful_ animal.” Solas sat next to her, joining in the light exercise.

“Oh, like a hart or a halla? I agree. The horses are too heavy footed— war horses. Great for… war. Stamina. Charging at things with sharp pointy objects and not balking in fear at the sight of copious amounts of blood. Not so much for unsteady rocky mountain passes, however.” Rosal groaned as her shoulder gave a loud pop, “Felt that one.”

She felt two strong hands suddenly on her shoulder, and sighed, slumping over and letting Solas rub knots out of her back. It always amazed her how soft such old hands were, and how delicate. Hands that killed so many should not be, no. More appropriate would be if they were thorny and calloused, or sharp claws and a fierce grip. She had to remind herself once again to be cautious of his gentleness.

Silence stretched out and Rosal’s mind began to wander as her eyes grew heavy; she was aware of nothing but her thoughts and the two strong hands traveling the landscape of her back. Finally, Solas broke the silence, the quiet of his voice barely audible over the loudness of her consciousness, “Have you had any more feelings _,_ _da’len_? Like before with the mages and the Seeker.”

“Hmm?” She exhaled, “Oh, well. I suppose I have not, though….”

_Keep it cool, Lavellan._

He turned to face her,“Though?”

She took a deep breath, and eat his eyes bravely, “I wonder, if my dream about the Wardens…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhg, full time jobs are no joke draining. Once my new schedule kicks in, updates will become easier. Right now I'm getting up so early ;_;.. and I am a night owl, so it's rough. Sob.


	15. Dissociation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four conversations and four different relationships.

Her ‘premonition’ about the Warden’s was probably _too_ soon. Far too soon— as every sign they found on the Storm Coast had pointed to them still being on the move towards some kind of larger gathering, while looking for someone. Still, Solas trusted her when she had spoken of the potential disaster that awaited them. Rosal had not revealed all she knew, just snippets of her ‘visions’: blood magic, Tevinter involvement, and demons. She had left the plot of ‘killing the Old Gods’ out of the picture, because not only was it just a ruse used to manipulate the Wardens, it would cause deep panic in Solas. She was _trying_ not to piss off a man once called a God due to absolutely insane amounts of power stemming from his hands. Yes, any mention of these ‘ _Old Gods’_ should be avoided. Solas seemed to connect the dots quite easily with what she did provide, and had slipped into a brood before suggesting a possible _translation_ of these disjointed images that actually rang quite close to the truth.

“This Tevinter power is using Warden forces to summon and possibly bind demons— and manipulating the power of the blight within these Wardens in some way to accomplish it. The implication are….terrible, I do not want to jump to more intense speculation, but if Tevinter is controlling the Wardens this quickly could escalate into a true war. I will have to consult my friends in the Fade on the matter.” He had said, “And once again, please let us keep this between us before jumping to action. If you are wrong, or I am wrong, any action could be further damaging to what might actually be transpiring.”

News had also come in via raven that a potential Warden contact by the name of Blackwall awaited them in the Hinterlands, and thus the diversion was added to their growing itinerary of things to accomplish before meeting in Redcliffe. They had arrived at the Storm Coast before the mercenary company and barely after Scout Harding, who looked less than pleased to be caught in the unrelenting deluge. Two days had passed and all that they’d found of the missing scouts were notes, abandoned campsites, and death.

Rosal pawed over the letter with the specifications for challenging the Blades of Hessarian— but where would they find a jeweler or smith around these parts? It would have to wait.

Cassandra approached her from behind in the small dingy cabin that smelt mostly of rotting wood and death, “Do not even think about it.”

“It says we can challenge them…” Rosal sighed, “Which is preferable to the alternative.”

“Yes, _perhaps_ , but we have not the time nor the resources and we _must_ resolve this issue. I do not trust these Blades.” Cassandra furrowed her brow, “It would be simpler to eliminate the threat.”

“Cassandra,” Rosal turned to face her, “These are people. Real, living people who could possibly _also_ help us. Besides, we do not know if the entire group is guilty of these crimes against us. What if it were a few rouges? We should investigate further before sentencing an entire camp to death or we could be just as bad as them. And we can _send_ for the amulet to be made— it is not a big thing.”

Her eyes narrowed, “If we do it your way, you will not be the one to fight. Promise me that you will not attempt such a feat yourself.”

Rosal huffed, “I promise, Cassandra. You or some other more _capable_ set of hands can challenge the leader.”

“Good.” Cassandra seemed to be pacified by her promise, “Let us find the others— they were investigating a camp left by the Wardens down the hill. We should take some rest before the mercenary group is set to show. The message said in the light of dawn but I do not trust either party at this point to be precise. And Rosal—“

She looked up from the letter in her hand,“Yes?”

“Do not go near the Tevinter combatants— they are a far greater adversary than some deranged Templar or abomination of a mage. If you can just please support from the sidelines.” Cassandra paused, “Plus I would prefer to see the real mettle of this group if we are to hire them. If they cannot handle it on their own, we should look elsewhere for assistance.”

“Cassandra.” Rosal gritted her teeth, “I can handle things on my end, please. I get this enough from Solas that I know my role in all this, OK? I know when to step in now, and I know when to stay out of the way.”

She paused, “I am sorry, I am patronizing you, aren’t I? It is not that I don’t trust you, it is just that I do not wish to see you harmed and for some reason you cannot learn to stay _completely_ out of the way when required.”

Harsh, but not completely inaccurate feedback. It was contradictory to her earlier insistence, “Was it not you who told me to get over it? How should I do that from the sidelines. Also, battle is never predictable. There is no _completely_ out of the way _Cassandra,_ especially with magic _._ ”

“Oh. Well.” Cassandra paused, hands falling to her side from their tense, crossed position.

Rosal’s cheeks flushed in anger, tone short, “It will always be a risk— _I_ will always be a risk. I’m really getting sick of all the unsolicited advice. I need to get back to camp. Are you coming?”

“Yes.” She fell quiet and contemplative on the way back to camp, where Solas and Sera were ignoring each other’s presence (an improvement, actually). They had arrived shortly before Cassandra and Rosal, bickering never out of range of the other group’s ears. Rosal had thought forcing Solas and Sera to work together would allow them to see their commonalities and decrease the overall disdain they heard for each other.

Rosal was wrong. If anything, the more time the two spent together, the more outspoken either seemed to be about how obnoxious he or she found the other. Solas practically fumed when they were alone, seeking acknowledgment that she was a “Disrespectful, unapologetic, self-loathing shadow of what she should be.”

But Rosal never completely agreed with him— as Sera was entitled to her own life, and own opinions— but did concede she could be less self-loathing and outspoken against Solas in particular when he spoke of the very things that were important to him: Elvhen culture, the Fade, magic. They were truly each other’s foil; later that night, in a private conversation, Sera stated she hated pridefulness most of all, without even making the connection to Solas’s name. The irony did not miss Rosal and she laughed, clapping Sera on the back, “It’s what he’s made of, you know. Neither black nor white— Pride is necessary in moderation.”

Sera chucked a stone down the side of the steep cliff, firelight from the Inquisition camp fire her distant target. It had stopped raining when the sun set— which hadn’t done them much good, but was at least a relief for the night, “Friggin’ hate that shite— same stick those nobly Orlesians got up their ass, too. Whole lot’s ruined if you ask me, best be done with them all. And him. Tell me, _Herald,_ why you like him so much? You don’t seem the type, eh, to be attracted to that prickly rubbish. But fuck if I know you well, maybe you’re not who I thought.” 

“I— never mind why, Sera. I like you, too, you know. I’m allowed to disagree with you on matters without feeling attacked for it; just because someone doesn’t align with you exactly doesn’t mean you should criticize them or disparage them. _That_ is the same stick up the arse those Orlesian nobles have— the blame is not necessarily pride. If it were merely pride, they wouldn’t be so willing to prostrate themselves for even a modicum of success or wealth. You two need to leave each other alone about what you find so disdainful about the other— I’ve heard the same level of shit talk about you, too. You both can live like you please without pissing all over the other’s ways. We’re going to be working together from now until some unforeseen future so best get it all out and shut up about it. No one likes sour grapes.”

Sera frowned and chucked another rock, this time purposefully in the direction of Solas’ tent. “Sour grapes’r better than shite company.”

“ _Sera._ ”

“Wot? And stop lecturing me and shit— I’m older than you, you know. You’re a bit of a know-it-all too, _Rosie Posie._ ” Sera glared at her.

Rosal sighed and passively let slip, “Really? I had no idea I was younger than you. I was sure you were at least a few years my junior. Maybe five.”

“Uhg!” Sera tensed, then thrust a finger into Rosal’s decolletage,“Why you bein’ such a _bitch?_ ”

“I’m not going to suck up to you to get you to stay, Sera. I’m just telling you what I think, and I think you’re acting like you’re twelve about this whole confrontation. I get that in the past, you just ignored and avoided people you found distasteful and labeled them shite, but when you’re in the organization it won’t work like that. Get. Over. It.” She thrust a finger back into Sera’s shoulder with each word.

Sera fell silent and smirked, “Uhg, that right there— that’s why I wanna _fuck you up_.”

“What— _Sera_ — can you just concentrate? How is now appropriate for— that.” Rosal sighed and face-palmed.

“Nah, not until you either tell me off or—“ Sera leaned in, breath hot on her cheek and body heat somehow a finger width away, “Just give in.”

“Sera, please stop touching my chest.”

“I’m not _touching_ I’m just accident—“

“Fine. Sera, please stop _brushing_ your appendages _accidentally_ against my tits.” Rosal pushed her back and got to her feet, “Not really looking for anything right now _with anyone_.”

Sera scowled, “You’re lonely as fuck, you know that _sis_?”

“Yes, I am aware.” She glared at Sera, who’d obviously hit on the sore point, “But if I have learned anything in this past year of adulthood, your _solution_ will just make that worse for me.”

“Not saying it was a solution,” Sera rolled her eyes, “Just some stress relief.”

Rosal started down the hill careful of her footing, not saying a word. She heard Sera’s discontent swearing at her back and fought the urge to turn and lose her cool on the fireball of a woman.

“Where ya going? Such a princess, you. _Fuck._ ”

Ignoring Sera’s antagonistic words, Rosal sighed and kept moving towards her tent, “Get some sleep, Sera, tomorrow will be long.”

 

 

And lo, it was long after all. The entire morning was eaten up by a never ending onslaught of Tevinter combatants attempting to protect their precious shipment of angry, red lyrium. Rosal had stayed as far back as she could, supporting from far by continuously casting barriers and range of effect spells; both Solas and Cassandra seemed pleased with her screwed decision. Truly, she’d thought to jump in when the time was right— show her better side— but the reality of the battle compared to how she’d imagined the fight restlessly in her bedroll the night before had her adhering quite strictly to their wishes. Despite pleasing them both, she felt displeasure towards herself. Shame, even. Still, when the fight ended none on their side were injured. The Bull’s Chargers had done the bulk of the work— as they had expected— and truly the group was strong and well managed. Cassandra was impressed, so Rosal knew she’d not make a fuss when she prepared herself to accept what The Iron Bull was about to offer them.

The Iron Bull was as she expected— gigantic and menacing against his opponents, but disarming and flirtatious, even during combat. “So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on and have a seat— drinks are coming.”

Rosal sheathed her staff into the holster on her back, “Iron Bull I presume?”

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away.” He motioned for her to follow, and they sat upon a damp rock facing the shore and the man who’d approached Rosal at the Chantry walked towards them, “I assume you remember meeting Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

“Nice to see you again. Throat cutters are done, chief.”

“Already? Have them check again. I don’t want any of those Teventer bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem smirked and turned to walk away. “None taken. At least the bastards know who their mother was…puts them one up on you Quinari, right?”

“So. You’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive— but we’re worth it.” He chuckled, “And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“You do indeed seem like an excellent company.” Rosal stood and followed Iron Bull along the shore as it began raining again, “We were all impressed with the general level of skill your men had in dealing with those mages.”

“They are indeed. But you’re not just getting the boys— you’re getting me. You need a frontline body guard? I’m your man. Whatever it is, be it demons? Dragons? The bigger the better.” He stopped walking and turned to face her, single eye meeting her two, “And there’s one other thing— might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben Hassrath?”

Rosal frowned, “The Qunari spy organization? Or something like city guards. Why?”

“Yeah, more towards spies, but yeah that’s them.” He paused, serious look replacing the jovial one, “Well, us. The Ben Hassrath are concerned about the Breech. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on— l’ll share them with you.”

“Wait, you’re a Qunari spy and you just— came out and told me. I guess the direct approach has it’s charm, especially since we have our own _secret intelligence_. Can’t really hide from something called ‘the Inquisition,’ can you.” Rosal shook her head, “What would you be sending in these reports?”

“Hah! My thoughts, exactly. Nothing damaging, I assure you. Just enough to keep them happy and know whether or not they need to invade to stop the world from falling apart.” He grinned, “Just remember, you and I are on the same side.”

Rosal huffed, “We have the same goal, yes, if you mean closing the Breech. I am not sure I would go insofar as to say we are on the same side, however. I do not fear magic as the Ben Hassrath apparently do.”

“Well, you are a mage, so…” He paused, “But don’t get me wrong— I’m not trying to give them reason to show up here. I’m trying to _stop_ that, which, I assure you, if myself and the Chargers on board there will be no need. We’ll find whatever evil piece of shit started this and rip him a new one!”

“Alright, Iron Bull. You and your men are hired… for now. You’ll want to speak with our spymaster when you get to Haven, as I am sure she will have questions and stipulations of her own. If you cannot meet them, you and your men will leave.” Rosal frowned, “And Iron Bull?”

He had a huge grin plastered across his face, “Yes, _Boss?_ ”

Rosal’s eyes scanned the distant horizon beyond his broad shoulders, “Think you and your men can help us with one teensy, little thing before you head off?”

A hearty belly laugh boomed from his throat, “What’s that! Anything!”

“Earlier, I saw— well, we saw— a giant. He was fighting a dragon.” She sighed, “We need to get beyond the section of the beach they’re blocking so, we need some assistance.”

The look on his face could only be described as lust, “You— you want us to fight a dragon with you? AND a giant? That’s… Boss, I’m gonna like working for you.”

“Well, the dragon flew off already, but we do need help with the giant!” She laughed at the slightly crestfallen look, “And I promise if we find a dragon in need of slaying, you’ll be the first pick to face it.”

“Alright That’’s what I like to hear!” Iron Bull roared.

 

 

Cassandra and Solas had been less than pleased about the addition of a Qunari spy to their ranks— with Solas outright fuming and pulling her by the scruff of her tunic into the larger, empty medical tent like a child, “Solas, fucking hell, stop it! Ow, that hurts.”

“Are you mad?” He shook his head in disbelief as she attempted unsuccessfully to swat his hand away, “Inviting a Qunari _spy_ into our ranks with no thought of consultation? No thought to vet his words? _Rosal, he could easily hurt you._ ”

_“He’s different!”_ She stopped resisting his steeled grip on her Rosal turned pink, realizing the entire basis of her quick decision was much to do with what she _did_ know about Iron Bull. Sure, she knew he was ‘a good guy’ but what reason did Solas or Cassandra (who was now hitting trees with her practice sword) have to believe he would not harm them? He was a giant, hulking beast of a man with a loyal following of his own men. He’d outed himself as a spy, and explicitly stated he was instructed to endear himself to them. And yet…still she had trouble grasping why they could not trust the man as she so immediately did. Rosal _knew_ he would be a good man, and that in the end it was a good decision. But that was her instinct— her memory. It was certainly right of the others to question the reasoning of her decision.

“ _Really?”_ Solas shook his head and forced her to sit on a cot as he paced in front of her, arms crossed, _“That is all you have to go on, that you believe him different? Are we to act on every gut instinct you have with no discretion?”_

“ _Excuse me,_ I don’t turn away good help when I see it because of something he might or might not do. _We barely have an active force, and not many of them can fight if required._ Not to mention basing my entire reaction to him on one _uncontrollable_ fact is outright insensitive— racist even! Why… why are you arguing me on this. I already told him he must be vetted by Leliana before we allow him further access or for him to be truly part of the Inquisition.”

“You have already let him close! _And how is him being a spy uncontrollable!”_ Solas bent to her level and was nearly growling into her ear, a breaths length away, “ _He chose that life. He could very easily have just left and joined the Inquisition outright._ ”

“Really?” She scoffed, crossing her own arms and turning her head from Solas, indignant look on her face. She’d expected him to see, somehow, that it was not such an easy choice to make,“ _Do you really expect someone indoctrinated by the Qun to do that outright? Why do you think he’s running around as a mercenary, Solas? Does that not seem slightly akin to questioning to you, that he is not obviously moving ever slowly away from what amounts to intellectual slavery?”_

Solas seemed to calm, momentarily stepping back and remaining silent. Her stance against the Qun, at least, he could respect. Her attention to detail also calmed him considerably. It is true he had not been able to interact with Iron Bull himself during this meeting, and ceeded there might be reason to her logic after all. 

Rosal’s voice was barely above a whisper, pretty little Elvhen words dancing from her tongue, “ _We could help him, as he could help us. Just in different ways.”_

“ _As romantic an ideal as that is, da’len, and as much as I appreciate the sentiment and hope your read of him is correct,”_ Solas’ voice had evened out, and he finally sat next to her, “ _It should still be second to your safety. You could very well be wrong. We are not here as decoration— you should consult us before making such weighty decisions involving general safety. Yes, it is important that the Inquisition grow, but we are not so hard up that we should not be careful in who we consider so close to us._ ”

“If they really wanted to spy on us, the Qunari could have just sent more human or elven looking people to join our ranks, Solas.” She sighed, “Right?”

“And I am sure they have or, if they haven’t yet, will.” He shook his head, “But no matter, that is another discussion. I need you to understand the gravity of the situation— it is just like rushing headfirst into a battle you cannot manage on your own. You’ve seen how close that brought you to losing your life and this is much the same. These decisions often decide fates of entire organizations and not just your own.”

“I _guess_ Solas, but still no reason to yell at me.” She glared, “I don’t like when you yell at me like a child. And no one on our side got hurt!”

“ _Oh, there is time yet._ I am about two seconds from bending you over my knee, _da’len._ ” He nearly growled again, voice dropping, “I am not sure how I’ve restrained myself, to be honest, seeing as you _still_ do not seem to see reason on this or any other issue since we left Haven. The tone of my voice, _da’len,_ does not change the content. Attempting to discredit me for showing of passion is childish, indeed. I will have no such restraint next time.”

“Solas— you— would— _never_!” She fumed, mouth agape, before crossing her arms and turning her whole body away from him, “ _Not even my own father would have—“_

_“Ah, I am so shocked.”_ He spoke with his mouth upturned, obviously amused and pleased with himself. He gripped her chin and turned her glowering eyes to meet his, “ _To find you deprived of a disciplined upbringing. It explains why you lack such reverence and respect for your elders, and are so quickly sour. Yes, any show of emotion from you and they quickly dropped the issue, not wanting to trigger your moods. Oh no, da’len, I have no qualms about giving you a fit. It will not work on me. How amusing— I did not think the Dalish could raise such a spoiled brat running around the woods in blasted land ships. Yet again they defy my expectations.”_

Rosal attempted to shove him away from her, “You’re an ass!”

_“_ Yes, that’s why I spend all my time worrying after you.” He caught her wrist and held her still to look her again in the eye, cadence of his voice smoothing and tone softening,  “ _I obviously don’t care what happens to you at all. Never mind I spend nearly all my waking time with you._ ”

She said nothing, just sighed defeatedly.

He released her hand and broke the heavy tension. His arm brought her into a more tender embrace, “No last word? No snippy, snide remarks? You’ve been full of them as of late.”

“What do you expect me to say, Solas, that you have not prepared a _perfect_ response to already.” She lowered her eyes and tensed against his chest. “I get it, I get I—“

“ _Again—_ emotional manipulation will not work on me, Rosal.” He tutted, “And even if you don’t realize that is what you do, it is. Though it’s your defensive reaction, not an offensive one. You’re unbearable this past week— what _is_ bothering you?”

Well, what _wasn’t_ bothering her? The general atmosphere, the disgusting journey to a soggy, mosquito ridden place, and the continued lack of emotional support was more than discouraging. Sure, she could confide in Solas but _not when it was about Solas_. Still her heart and groin ached for some level of resolution from him. He had provided neither—but kept enough attention on her to continuously whet her appetite for his approval and affection. Which he gave in spades— yes— but only on his terms. Terms that did not align with her need. And Sera— Sera simply wanted her to be a less complicated, less broody version of Rosal that simply spread her legs and took off her shirt. Trying to talk to her about ‘feelings’ or ‘serious business’ often ended in offhand remarks and groping. As for Cassandra, she was acting strange, and had been distant since their trip to Val Royeaux. And who were these scouts? It’s not like she knew Scout Harding well enough to take her aside and pour her heart out. No one here was familiar or close— yes, they were friends at time but none of them held history with her as they did to her. It was so unbearably lonely a feeling. So many expectations, so many decisions to make and people to meet— it was _hard_ being her. Every day was a new level of anxiety and worry. Had she made the right decision, had she done the right thing? Often she was told she had not, and constantly doubted her own ability to make these decisions. The cycle repeated itself. Any measure of independence she took was viewed as a mistake. People died around them and her companions barely flinched. Would she become like that to, in time?

“…Rosal?” He sounded concerned and squeezed her shoulder, noticing her unsubtle leave from the conversation.

Shifting awkwardly, she leaned her forehead onto his chest, her voice muffled, “A lot.”

“Do you want to talk— no, you should talk about it. You _need_ to talk about it. This is getting out of hand, _da’len. Last night you were weeping when you thought everyone was asleep; I really cannot let this pass. This is not healthy.”_

“I just— I. I have a lot of feelings to work through and not the time.” She sighed, tugging the hem of her sleeve past her hand.

He watched her carefully, hand rubbing her back soothingly, “We have the time now.”

She mumbled at a barely audible level, “You shouldn’t have to waste your time listen to my blathering, Solas.”

“I am your _friend_ , Rosal, even if sometimes you do not see me as such.”

Why did every breakdown end with him, and only him? Since coming to Haven the pattern was real and tangible. Rose shifted and met his eyes again, “Is that what you see yourself as?”

“What _you_ think of me as, Rosal, is the question here, especially since I surmise it is part of the issue.”

“I don’t know. You’re very good at telling me what to do, though.” Rosal huffed. “It’s _complicated._ Everything is complicated— nothing is simple here. It’s overwhelming me. I just want one. Simple. Thing. One thing I can control or one straightforward relationship where I can know where I stand. Everyone here is so complicated— so muddled and stormy. I feel I know them and ah— another beat passes and another day and still they feel as strangers. No, I mean… I feel I am the stranger, and that I know them, and them not knowing me makes them strangers? It’s an odd feeling. As if I’ve always known them, and its they who must know me.”

“Is it an uneven exchange you are describing? A miscommunication of sorts?” Solas hummed, eyes twinkling darkly as his own reeling mind prodded her gently, “Or something else?”

Rosal sighed, “Well, that depends. What falls under ‘something else?”

Solas frowned thoughtfully, switching directions, “Do you miss your home?” 

“Home?” She laughed, “Not really, not so much. There was always tension, and expectations— much like here— and I never met those expectations in most of the clan’s eyes. At least not enough to be taken seriously. The only person I would miss died at the Conclave.”

“Ah, I am sorry for your loss, Rosal, truly. I can’t imagine you’ve had proper time to grieve.” He clasped her hand, “This was a dear friend of yours?”

“Something of the sorts, yes, she was. She was—“ Rosal paused, “We were very close.”

Solas raised his eyebrows, “I see.”

She shifted against him, inhaling his woody sent. they were now nearly laying down, her hands drawing circles on his chest, “Do you?”

Solas watched her small hands smooth the wrinkles from his tunic, “Did you really want to talk about it? You seem resistant and unwilling to vocalize the nature of your relationship. I do not want to push you.”

“I never have said it out loud, really.” She mumbled, “It was always just implied or not spoken of, especially with anyone else.”

He took on a disapproving tone, “Ah, the Dalish do seem to frown on unwed coupling, let alone what they deem _unproductive_ relationships.”

“No! That isn’t why. I mean, yeah, the elders didn’t know we were— we were— _involved_. And she always kept up appearances. Ellana was always worried about what others thought of her, and didn’t mind bending her own wants to their wishes if it made them happy. I mean I am sure part of her loved me, but she wasn’t really ready to admit to herself that she wasn’t the _perfect_ Dalish daughter she’d strived to be. She couldn’t have anything out of place, ever. She was the best in everything she tried and had a hard time accepting any fault in herself. But really, I think it was more she was unsure of her own feelings and making a decision one way or the other would hurt someone.”

“That is unfortunate,” He pulled her closer, “It is not unusual for your age to have such an issue. When you are young, happiness depends most often on acceptance and not deep feeling. With age that surely changes— you care less of social acceptance as your opinions develop and solidify, and more of your own sense of what is right and your own feelings of love. It is unfortunate someone still so immature caught your very sensitive heart, _da’len._ ”

“Yes… well, she is gone now.” Yes, Ellana was gone from her waking life. She merely existed in dreams— a pale ghost of the woman she had been alive.

He brushed the hair from her face, “And yet, the pain remains. Not only from her death but her negligence of your love.”

“You make it sound so serious.” Rosal closed her eyes, “It was just a silly thing, a silly thing young people do.”

“I have a hard time believing you when you say that. It sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself of some other reality rather than deal with what is true.” Solas grasped her hand,“Tell me, did you love her? As a friend or a lover. It doesn’t really matter which role she had, it merely matters she held your heart in some manner.”

“Yes, I did.” She finally smiled softly, “As both.”


End file.
